Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse
by R334
Summary: Someone said a while ago: here be monsters. Harry didn't know what that sentence meant until the unthinkable. In a single night, his world collapses as he strolls mindlessly, unaware of what's stalking him in the darkness. Undercover, vampire Harry...
1. Chapter 01: The Beast He Became

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 01**

**v.01: 04/04/2005**

**

* * *

**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 01: The Beast He Became**

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The night was cold as always.

For the lone figure that trod back to his abode in that small town in Surrey, the chill had almost become as familiar as his breathing abilities. Not only did he feel it inside but on the outside too. The cold that lingered over his skin was like a welcome caress, a soft whisper that did not bite despite its aggressive nature. In fact, it almost made him feel alive.

Which was quite a panacea for his countless problems, which plagued his mind like a never-ceasing storm.

The slight wind played with his senses, galvanizing his dying soul from the lethargy it had relinquished itself to. It had been nearly half a month since his godfather had died before his eyes. Twenty days since he had returned from harm's way, numb in the inside and consequently lost all connection with reality. He had sent less letters to his friends than he had previously promised, for he couldn't find within him neither the will nor the strength to converse or jot his feelings down on a single piece of parchment. He had lost so much in so little a time that he didn't dare give up more parts of himself lest he lose himself in a dark abyss of despair.

Deep inside Harry Potter dearly felt the loss of Sirius, the only closest thing he had to a father - the only one he could relate to in terms of family by blood or commitment. The worst, in his opinion, was that his godfather's death was the result of a terrible mistake he had so brazenly committed while it could have been easily prevented. If he hadn't foolishly rushed down to the Department of Mysteries instead of using his enchanted mirror Sirius wouldn't have come to the rescue and meet his fate at the hands of Bellatrix Black. He wouldn't still be behind that accursed Veil of Death, lingering in a limbo world nobody could escape of.

Harry had taken, during the past weeks, the unhealthy habit of walking alone in the evenings till midnight, much to the unvoiced displeasure of his uncle and aunt. Unsurprisingly, his relatives didn't mind much about Dudley's late homecomings, as long as he returned before nine o'clock... but in Harry's case, as always, his behavior was completely scandalous according to the Dursleys' standards. But they said nothing as they feared the arrival of Harry's guardians - the Order of the Phoenix' members - and the punishment they would receive should those individuals learn they had hurt or annoyed Harry during his holidays. In consequence they had cut him some slack, leaving him to mull over his depressing thoughts and drown in a somber resignation. At daytime he would either stay indoors, reading some unknown books without really memorizing its contents or stare into space or remain outdoors, taking long walks and sit for hours in the small park nearby. Of course, the neighbors had looked upon his actions with disapproval, remembering the lies the Dursleys told about their nephew, how he attended St Brutus' Center for Incurably Criminal Children and was being held by the police as culprit for some terrible crimes he was never - scandalously - convicted for. They didn't condone his scruffiness and apparent laziness either but those concerns were the least on Harry's list.

In reality, he kept on mourning Sirius, recalling each second of how his godfather's body had arced in midair towards the Veil, never to reappear. Mystifyingly, he had shed no tears ever since that fateful night. There was too much void within him to find the mere strength to cry and break down. He had become cold, withdrawn and sullen. The guilt was too high within him and he didn't feel like deserving happiness. Everyone around him had in a way or another become hurt and ended up dead, like Cedric Diggory or Sirius Black. He wanted to slash his nails across his body and draw blood, to slam his fists into a stony wall and break its unmarred surface and to throw his head back to howl his pain at the moon, like a wounded wolf.

But try as he might, he couldn't.

He stopped in his tracks, under a lamppost, feeling his eyes accommodate themselves to the sudden glare. He lifted his gaze towards the light bulb and stared at the swarm of insects that flew around the glowing contraption, desiring their destiny. Oh, how he wanted to have nothing to worry about, to discard his hell of a life, to become small and simple, to live and die like any form of life in this planet...

_Damn you._

He closed his eyelids and sighed deeply, feeling his heart constricting upon Fate's newest taunt. Every step he took in his life was a reminder of how existence - much like the ground - was inherently hard. Every breath he took was a testimony of how depended on air and many other things that would not always be with him. And each thought he had was about his family.

His father. Lost because of what his son would be later in life.

His mother. Sacrificed for a child destined to kill.

His godfather. Killed because of his stupidity and rashness.

Too much was too much. He needed something to take the pain away. A catharsis.

_And here I am looking at the stars, alone, while I could have been with Ron and Hermione, talking about more cheering subjects than this piece of crap_, he groused resentfully, imaginarily shaking his fists at the heavens and blaming them for his sorrows.

Little did he know that ten meters behind him he was being stalked by a tall figure draped in dark robes, eyeing its prey with beady, slitted eyes. Its footsteps were muffled by the damp darkness swirling around it, like a mantle of sorts and shielding its body from the surrounding world. The only feature an eventual bystander could distinguish from afar were the bright red, glowing eyes that pierced the shadows, like laser beams, their gaze latching onto the unaware wizard mindlessly strolling ahead.

As seconds ticked by the distance between the pair diminished with a grim finality.

Still unaware of his company, Harry kept prodding at the gloominess that pervaded his mind, wondering about how his life could get any darker. With the arrival of Umbridge last year Hogwarts no more had the role of refuge to the raven-haired teenager but had become something akin to a prison - a house of torture from which he had to escape before it would swallow him for ever and never spit him back out. With that thought the Boy-Who-Lived suddenly felt a trifle unsafe, as he wondered about where he could hide from the Dark Side. Grimmauld Place was still under the Fidelius but with Kreacher gone the location wouldn't remain secret very long if it wasn't already betrayed to the Malfoys therefore to Voldemort himself.

And -

_Wait a minute._

_What's that-_

The chill of the night suddenly grew exponentially, making the hair on his neck stand straight and tremors run through his spine. The bite of the frost suddenly became painful as a whiff of cold air slashed across his skin, tearing his nerves with the pure, unadulterated premises of unmistakable fear. Harry remembered that phenomenon, having experienced it countless times around Hogwarts or other specific areas - it was one that always happened when someone was on the verge of -

Attacking him.

As a Seeker in Gryffindor team, Harry had over the years toned his body and refined his reflexes, all of which enabled him to act slightly faster - a very welcome ability in dueling or hand-to-hand combat, although wizards and witches seldom resorted to that type of fighting. As the realization sunk in, Harry spun backwards, his hand flying straight to his trousers' pocket, reaching for the wand it contained - just as a heavy, rock-hard mass rammed itself straight into the young wizard, sending him barreling onto the unyielding pavement along with his assailant.

_What the heck?_ Harry thought, just as a fist flew into his chin, connecting painfully, filling his visions with imaginary stars and drawing some blood from the split skin. Harry responded with a violent kick, eliciting a muffled curse from the other figure, that kept on trying to pin its prey onto the ground - with mitigated success. In consequence, the scuffle resumed, increasing in violence and desperation.

The pair rolled again around, eliciting a grunt of pain from Harry and a growl of frustration from the attacker. The teenager tried frenetically to shake his opponent off but the grip the stranger maintained on him was too strong to break. Instead, the man - as Harry assumed he was - elbowed the young wizard in the stomach, making him gasp for air and clutch his midriff in pain. As Harry panted to recover his breath he felt a strong hand slam into his throat, nearly choking him out and threatening to crush his Adam's apple inwards. The man then proceeded to lift him off the ground, effortlessly. The fingers around Harry's neck tightened, making the wizard see bright spots in his vision, as his bloodstream's oxygen percentage dropped significantly. _Where is the Order? WHERE IS THE ORDER?_ he thought desperately, glancing left and right to see the familiar shapes of his companions-in-arms.

Harry's attacker saw his prey's head darting from one side to the other and couldn't refrain himself from chuckling in dark satisfaction. "Don't worry about them, kid. They can't see you right now," he declared, obviously relishing the fear that flashed through the Boy-Who-Lived's eyes. _That's it, I'm doomed_, Harry realized. _So much for sixteen years spent in pain just to finish like that..._

Surprisingly, instead of keeping him up, off the ground, the figure bent his arm, drawing Harry closer to his face, as if wanting to have a private chat with the barely conscious wizard. Harry tried to pierce the darkness that hid his enemy's face but failed. Either he was masked or magic prevented anyone to gaze upon his features - in both cases no features could be determined by eyesight. Harry twitched faintly, trying a last time to get away from the man's grip and run to wherever he would find safety - which meant, _not here_. Anywhere but not here. A glint appeared under the figure's hood, as amusement flickered in the stalker's crimson eyes. Harry gasped as exhaustion took him over. His attacker kept on staring at his weakening opponent as he drowned in the throes of death, of slow, painful asphyxia and strangulation. A deep chuckle came to enforce Harry's suspicions of dealing with a mad, sadistic man. "I'm sure you understand tomorrow will be a hard day which you'll have to wake up to...?" the man taunted, mocking his prize's helplessness.

Then, slowly but surely, the distance between the two beings' faces decreased. Harry suddenly felt like a death convict walked his last steps towards the execution room, where the electric chair would be waiting for him. The young man kept on staring at his attacker with a strong, nearly insulting defiance. Insolence would be more appropriate a term to qualify the glint that shimmered in his widening pupils. _I won't back down, even if I am to die. I won't back down._ Then as Time came to a crawl, Harry was suddenly flooded with images from other times. Other people. Other places.

Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione, King's Cross Station, the Department of Mysteries, Sirius, the lake near the castle, Remus...his entire life passed in front of his mind's eye. _That's it. I'm going to die. So -_

Then all happened in a blur.

Harry didn't see the man lunge at him, at the junction of his chest and the neck, near the jugular. He instead felt the white-hot pain caused by sharpened teeth sinking into his flesh, ripping the skin apart and drawing blood in fountains. The shock nearly sent him in to oblivion but the adrenaline that flowed through his veins kept him from passing out. His own life fluid was splashing against his clothes, drenching him in a deluge of crimson. _He...he's a vampire_, Harry realized, horror-filled comprehension dawning on him like a dozen sledgehammers. He felt the creature's canines pressing deeper, into his innards, hungrily sucking the blood out like a thirsty man would down his drink with a straw. Harry sensed his insides being drained and himself going extremely pale. His brains weren't functioning as well as before as they were deprived of their feeding substance.

He tried to say something but nothing came from his constricted voice box. With a final sigh, Harry James Potter prepared himself for his own death.

_I guess this isn't so bad - I'll finally be able to see you again...Cedric...Sirius...Dad...Mum..._

Then something else, more astounding, happened.

Harry was at that moment on the very verge of fainting when he felt himself suddenly slamming into the rough surface of the paved sidewalk, his bruised cheek raking across the mechanically chiseled stone, nearly splitting the already damaged skin. Gasping for breath and holding on for pure life, he brought himself to lie on his back, holding a weak hand onto the copiously bleeding bite, trying to quench the flow of spilling blood. He found himself gagging, his head trashing wildly as he tried to get rid of the pain. Then among the whirlwind of thoughts that flurried through his fevered mind, he remembered the vampire. _Where? He's probably still there waiting to finish me off..._

He glanced left, preparing himself for the worst but instead saw something that made his heart stop.

The vampire was on his knees, vomiting loudly, his body riddled with violent spasms. He saw the creature's skin begin to crack and veins popping up, as if dark ink had replaced blood. Horror filled the young wizard as he saw his attacker roll on the ground, with his limbs flailing in agony. The man's mouth then snapped open, letting loose an ear-shattering scream that echoed through Magnolia Crescent. Harry, in his daze, spotted multiple darkened windows lighting up as people woke up in alarm from their peaceful slumber, awakened by the soul-tearing howl of the dying vampire. _What's happening? _he thought, petrified by the ghastly sight that bode no good at all.

Then, in a glaring flash, the man's body burst into flames. Harry weakly scrambled to his feet as his breathing returned to normalcy and tried to get out of that area, as soon as possible. Muggles would come in a matter of seconds, closely followed by a night shift police squad and Harry wasn't prepared to deal with them. _Need to go...out...somewhere ... Out..._he muttered mentally, trying to refrain his vision from spinning. He glanced behind him, towards the front lawn of a large property, that of the McKinnons, and found a large number of small trees, which would provide him with an excellent hiding place. Excruciatingly, each effort drawing remnants of his strength away, Harry staggered towards a couple of bushes, holding his ripped shirt against his oozing wound. He took a last glance backwards just in time to see a body writhing in red flames turn into ashes.

_No need to stay here and try to understand, Harry. Get the hell out of here. Before anyone finds you._

He tried to run but his lightheadedness got the better of him. As soon as he rose from his hideout, he felt his head being flooded with colors. The next thing he knew, his face was resting on some humid moss, the greenness of the surrounding specimens of flora darkened by fresh blood. He glanced upwards and found himself gazing at a makeshift roof made voluminous shrubs and bushy branches, which effectively concealed him from view. _Urgh._ Settling his weight upon his elbows and using his arms to raise his torso, he resigned himself to his helpless predicament and managed, without encountering too much difficulties and pain, to prop himself up against a yew tree's bark, feeling the rough texture rake against his battered back, oddly finding comfort in this new predicament. _As long as you feel pain then everything's okay - you're still alive. It's when you start losing your perceptions that you need to get worried._

Grunting in exhaustion, he tried to get his bearings but failed miserably. He could hear sirens in the distance, closing on Magnolia Crescent. _Let them here for a moment - then go as soon as you feel better_, he thought to himself. _BLOODY HELL! _he snarled to himself as pain coursed through his collarbone, threatening to send him in the hands of Morpheus.

_That bloody bastard tried to kill me_, Harry realized, as he brought his blood-soaked hand to eye level. He suddenly felt no longer weary but quite alert. The night was literally flowing through him. He could hear leaves brushed by a gentle breeze and night creatures crawling around to resume their nocturnal life's activities - nearly insignificant rodents roaming across the landscape in search for fresh food. He felt people scurrying on the street and gasping at the strange scene before them: a mass of charred flesh mixed with burning ash near a big pool of blood. He heard night birds soaring through the sky, waiting for a prey to pass beneath them and to swoop down for the kill.

But above all else, Harry smelled the blood.

Surprisingly, the coppery-scented liquid didn't fill him with a sense of revulsion but more with a strong feeling of...longing. Of desire. Lust. Craving. It felt like a sweetness he desperately needed, more and more intoxicating by the minute. An overwhelming beckon. He could sense it swirling around him in soft wafts that kept on tempting his nose and his self-control. _I need blood_, Harry thought, with a viciousness foreign to his previous self. _I need...BLOOD? What the fuck? _he asked, bewildered by the sudden change and reverting to his old being. _What's gotten into me? Why do I suddenly crave for blood? Why am I acting so irrationally? What's happening?_ he asked the world around him. He got on all fours and started crawling away, as if trying to escape whatever what tormenting him. He needed to get out - the McKinnons would surely come on the street to see whatever happened and they would probably find him. Police dogs would probably be used to track him down and he couldn't allow that. The foliage wouldn't provide him with a semblance of safety much longer. _WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME? _he wailed inwardly.

Harry whirled around, as if expecting someone to come out of the blue and give him the answer but darkness was his only correspondent. Odors came to him unbidden and small sounds crashed against his eardrums like the waves of a sea in turmoil, assaulting his senses relentlessly, each time increasing in intensity. He could now easily picture his environment, complete with living beings and moving objects. It seemed like he had eyes or ears everywhere, as if he had been bestowed with an overwhelming awareness. A reluctant omniscience. As he took in the information he was getting, he observed his insides going numb. The feeling started from his stomach and spread outwards, a sudden chill flowing through his arteries. This time the night and its low temperature were for nothing in the phenomenon. Harry touched his own arm and was terrified to be rewarded with a contact with an ice-cold limb. _Merlin! Why do I feel so...so cold? Where's my...s...strength...warmth...?_

He looked skywards, gazing at the moon that pierced through the clouds, like a beacon in the darkness. A sign of salvation. Ironically, the orb of silver just seemed to mock Harry's ordeal, instead showing him the truth behind his changes.

_That bastard..._he recalled his aggression and how he had fought against his opponent. How the man had sunk his sharpened canines into his flesh.

His heart froze as the realization took place. He'd been bitten.

By a vampire.

A vampire.

He suddenly felt nauseous as the implications sunk in, breaking his frenzied mind. _No...it can't be true...it CAN'T!_

But it did.

He had been bitten.

Harry stared once again at the moon, glaring at the lonely planet with all the hate he could muster, directing his rage at the new blow Fate had dealt him. He felt like roaring to the skies, venting off his frustration and pain, but the inarticulate cry he wanted to let out wouldn't come out of his mouth, like stifled by a more powerful, restraining influence.

The only sound that came from his voice box was not a painful moan but a throaty snarl.

And oversized fangs glistened in the chilly night.

_

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_To be continued..._

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**A/N:**

Know the drill? Read and review. Yeah, I know Vampiric!Harry is overdone - AngelicDemon 16 (Mara and Becca) and some others already did it before me. Just giving the thing a try with some changes and input from other universes. What will they be? Dunno. I'll see. Just got some ideas. Oh, please, last thing: no flames (cf. profile page) or complaints about the pairings...if you don't like it just search for a better story. You've got a lot of choices in FFN. Note: HP-ASIT's chap 05 is 95 percent complete but for some unknown reason I feel dissatisfied with what I came up with. Expect delays in that section - I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do with that series in the long and short term. Planning sucks.

Last thing: I know, it was slow, but it was my depiction of how Harry contracted vampirism. An event that would shatter his life. Next chapters will cut on the crap. I swear. ;-) On a side note, I'm trying to write a variation of this series - same first chapter, different themes and outcome but I don't know if I'll give it the green light as it turned out to be harder to type. Maybe not. I'll see it later.

In the meantime - buh-bye!

ABI2301


	2. Chapter 02: On The Road Again

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 02**

**v.01: 05/04/2005**

* * *

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

* * *

**Chapter 02: On The Road Again**

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He had to get out.

That was the first of his decisions. His main goal.

Still covered in his own blood and wearing his ripped clothes, Harry ran back at four, Privet Drive, finding with great relief that the house was plunged in darkness. A quick glance across the lawn showed him that the Dursleys weren't even there as their minivan was nowhere in sight. He vaguely remembered his porky-looking uncle grumbling about their spending a night at Aunt Marge's but did not dwell on the matter. In fact he had definitively kicked his relatives out of his mind a while ago and had barely acknowledged them during the holidays as he retreated to his own inner world of pain where only dwelt pictures of him, his parents and Sirius. Stumbling at the porch, he fumbled with his keys and opened the door, before rushing towards his room. As soon as he got there he started throwing his possessions inside his faithful trunk, not caring in which state or order they landed. He opened Hedwig's cage and got the snowy white owl out, carrying the bird towards the opened windowsill, much to the avian's disgruntled hoots at how she was being handled - by her master, no less.

"Hedwig - listen to me," Harry said, panting. "We've got to leave this place. Forever. I don't know where to go but I cannot carry you all the way. I'm setting you free for this night. As soon as I've found somewhere to live in, join me, okay?" he asked his companion, seeing the hurt in her beady eyes but feeling powerless towards that. Hedwig softly hooted in agreement and took off, disappearing into the night. Harry sighed in resignation before discarding his ruined clothes, changing to new, more fitting ones that he had bought in Diagon Alley before fifth year's start. He grabbed a small towel, splashed his face with water from the faucet and rubbed the now caked blood out of his face and shoulders. He took out his wand and glanced around, feeling reluctant to use magic before his birthday, the date he would finally be authorized to perform spells without alerting the whole Ministry. "Oh, to hell with it!" he muttered, casting a Shrinking Charm on his trunk and pocketing the sugar cube-sized object in his trousers. Disrespect towards the decree against underage magic was the least of his concerns. He took a last look at his room then turned away, scrambling down the stairs and running out of his house like a madman, feeling desperation clawing at the edges of his mind. He felt numb, as if in a dream. He wasn't the one being hurt; it was somebody else - as he was just a spectator. As he arrived outdoors, he didn't realize something that should have logically occurred: _the ministry owl notifying him of his infringement of the law never came._

He ran into the night, not feeling the cold wind whip over his ears and the scenery fly by. Few passersby noticed him as he sprinted away, setting as much distance between him and four, Privet Drive. He didn't want the Order to locate him and cart him away to St Mungo's or confine him in a cell for his so-called safety. Vampires were ostracized in the wizarding world. They were even more frowned upon than werewolves as they were permanently dangerous and could use their powers to harm people. Individuals suffering from lycanthropy were only capable of harming human beings at the full moon but vampires could do that at all times, even in daylight.

And he was now one of them.

One of the Accursed.

The Living Dead, as wizards and witches called them.

The small clusters of peaceful, rich residences finally left place to congregations of shops and other boutiques. As he saw more human activity in the surroundings, Harry changed his run to a reasonable pace, not trying to draw attention to himself. Instead of being surrounded by darkness he now found himself in a more lighted environment, bustling with night-partying people or individuals who like to linger downtown till sunrise. Harry,having been raised by the Dursleys, had never been in such places and felt like a fish out of water. He gazed at some couples that were gathering around blaring discotheques, laughing out loud and talking casually about their private lives. The young, lost wizard sensed millions of perceptions assailing his mind as he attempted desperately to take the feelings in and deal with them. Once again he felt like vomiting but he refrained himself from losing the contents of his stomach onto the sidewalk. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings and leant against a lamppost, watching people walk by, not noticing him and his deathly pale complexion, oblivious to the creature they were passing by.

"Bloody hell - where am I going to go, now?"

In the distance, he saw a small, modern-looking fountain, conveniently away from the agitation; he strode over to that spot, longing for some peace and quiet. He bent over the rim of the landmark and relished the feeling of water droplets dropping on his bare neck. "That's better," he muttered. "Nothing like a cold shower to wake oneself up." _But the nightmare's still going on, _he concluded grimly. Try as he might, he couldn't shake off the dreadful dream off his head. _Nah, definitively reality. _That was when he saw his reflection in the pool. The first thing he noticed was that he was wearing no glasses. "Huh? What the -" He ran his fingers through his face, finding neither metallic frame nor round, numerously fixed pieces of glass. _I must have lost them in the fight_, he realized with astonishment. He then surprised himself by the roughness he felt as he palpated his jaw. "Since when are my cheeks no longer round but that angular?" he asked himself, staring at his image in the water. His cheekbones were more defined and their adulthood was even more accentuated by the now shoulder-length hair that framed his pale face. "WHAT?" he nearly screamed, discovering his new haircut. His hair was still very messy in the front and a bit on the sides but less spiky and longer on the back. _Definitely a new look_, he decided. _Will make things easier. Bet Ron and Hermione wouldn't recognize me at all_, he thought, softly beaming at the memory of his friends, who would now be deathly afraid of what he had become. Especially Hermione who knew more about dark creatures than himself since she spent long hours peering over books and manuscripts and filling her brains with miscellaneous facts. As his reminiscences lasted longer, his smile faltered, leaving place to a pained grimace.

As he peered over the fountain's stony rim again Harry saw his own reflection dimming, fading to naught. The image was soon replaced by the ripple of the water, showing nothing but a black, star-filled night. "Black hell!" Harry shouted.

_That's it_, Harry thought nearly despairingly. _I'm a vampire._

Exhausted by the night's turn of events, he collapsed onto a nearby bench, holding his hands on his temples, trying to wake up from the nightmare he thought he was falling in.

After calming and tidying himself a little, he went back to the streets, mingling with the young men and women celebrating another night of fun and release, enjoying the buzzing atmosphere of the district. Harry couldn't help but envy their place and nonchalance. _I'd give my Firebolt to be in their place - no fucking madman behind my arse and no fangs in my mouth. Just my bloody life and me._ He stumbled upon a loose piece of pavement and cursed his clumsiness. The accident, however, jarred him from his daze, making him aware of his surroundings. He looked to his left and saw a brightly lit pub, full with teenagers downing soft drinks by entire bottles. He even espied someone that looked like his age and impulsively decided to go in. "It's not like I've got something to lose..." he mumbled under his breath, shrugging helplessly. "At least it will get my mind off that - that -" he struggled with his words and shook his head, before finally opening the door and being caught in a big blast of sounds and sensations. He smelled the sweat of dancing bodies, of cigarettes' smoke lingering in the atmosphere, the smell of alcohol-tinged breaths and many different drinks. He heard thrumming footsteps coming from the dancing place as people swayed to the entrancing, thumping rhythm of hardcore techno.

Shaking his head against the deluge of perceptions, he made his way through the crowd and towards the bar, fishing in his pocket to find some money. He had fortunately had the foresight to change some Galleons into Muggle money for his holidays, as he knew he would have to rely on himself only during that period. Things had gone hectic during that twenty-day period as he was literally quarantined to four, Privet Drive by the Order. Each time he wanted to wander a little bit too far away from his 'house' a member of the secret organization would pop up and ask him to go back to the 'security zone' as they put it. That behavior had rendered him rather disgruntled and resentful towards his so-called protectors. He found himself a vacant spot at the bar and ushered for an employee to take his order. Taking out a few coins out of his pocket, he asked for a Bacardi Breezer. _Time for me to get drunk for the first time. I bloody need it_, he grumbled inwardly. _Even if I'll ultimately need a dozen two-liter bottles to be pissed. _The barkeeper nodded and took a bottle of the said beverage, popping the lid off and handing it to a brooding Harry.

The runaway wizard accepted his drink with a muffled thanks and downed his first gulp hoping that the liquid would, one way or another, cleanse him of his worry and wash away his troubles. It only served to dull his mind a little as the 'small' amount of alcohol rushed inside his veins and hit his brains. He coughed a little then took his second shot, under the amused look of the barkeeper whose stare cynically meant 'lightweight!'

"First-timer, eh?" he inquired good-naturedly.

"You could say that," responded Harry, slamming his glass on the shiny bar, before sitting himself at a newly vacated stool. "It's not like I ever had a good drink - never had the chance to get myself in neverland." The man gave him a sympathetic, noncommittal smile then returned to his chores, swamped under the never-ending orders. _Where do I go from now_, Harry asked himself, wondering where he indeed could head. He couldn't drop by Grimmauld Place, or at least not now. He still had to accept his new state and deal with his unease - without mentioning that he still had to come to grips with Sirius' untimely departure. As he drowned in his growing despair, Harry felt a slight tinge at the edge of his consciousness, a soft pull that ripped him off his wandering thoughts. _Hmmm? _Then the smell came - a sweet, dulcet one that brought along a strange sense of recognition within his subconscious, like a deep memory finally coming out of the shadows. Something, or rather, someone, was right behind him. He slowly spun around, dreading the worse and was greeted by the sight of a tall, pale and blond-haired woman, dressed in a long leather coat and wearing dark clothes. But her Goth attire wasn't what spiked his interest or his concern. Her physique was rather...familiar but he couldn't get his finger on the truth.

It was when the woman reached the bar and turned towards him that the illumination came.

Her pale complexion. The coldness he felt around her.

She was a vampire.

A _vampire_.

Harry almost choked on his Bacardi, making the stranger smile with mild amusement. She patted him on his back, making the teenager nearly choke again at her friendly gesture. "Tryin' ta talk an' drink atta same time, fang-boy?" she smirked, seeing the alarm spread through Harry's features as she unsubtly acknowledged his state. "Oh, come on, what's tha' problem?" she drawled, seeing the fear within her interlocutor and surprised at his actions. "Wait," she said, looking at him closer, making Harry squirm under the unwanted scrutiny. She examined him for a moment before comprehension dawned on her. Her blonde eyebrows rose towards her hairline as she realized his real predicament. "Ya - ya've just been turned, haven't ya?" she questioned, her demeanor now less 'aggressive'. Harry nodded weakly, still weary of the heavenly but still potentially dangerous in front of him.

"Yeah. One hour ago..." he muttered, looking away.

"I see," she answered, nodding gravely. "I understand why ya looked so queasy. Ya aren't able ta cope with tha' changes, are ya?"

Once again, Harry acquiesced, feeling relieved at her behavior. He feared being the subject of a second attack in less than two hours and knew that vampires were exceedingly strong and fast when it came to fighting or hunting. Being in a pub comforted him somewhat as he knew she wouldn't do any foolhardy stunt in such a crowded area without wreaking havoc and mayhem around. Like wizards and witches, those beings of the night preferred secrecy and discretion to a blatant, unhidden life. "Y...yeah," he stuttered.

"Ah. Where's ya sire?" she asked him, while paying the bartender for a shot of Vodka. Harry turned to face her, not quite getting the hang of her question. "Sire?"

"Yeah - tha' one who turned ya," she specified, gulping down the transparent drink without any sign of choking. "Tha' one who took ya as a childe, ya know?"

"Childe?" Harry asked uncertainly, not familiar with the term. As his puzzled look deepened, the female vampire became more and more appalled at what she was hearing.

"Yeah - ya're a childe - ya've been turned in by a...a...well, one of us, ya see? Yar sire. Don't tell me yar sire left ya alone with no trainin'!" she questioned, looking increasingly worried by the minute and startling Harry by her vehemence. "No one was there to help me," he resentfully answered, looking down at his glass. "That guy who bit me...I don't know what happened to him. One second he was there sucking the shit out of my neck and the next one he was imitating a fire hose on the sidewalk."

"Oh," commented the vampire, mouth agape. A dozen seconds passed before her jaw snapped shut with an audible 'click' and she returned to her drink, frowning deeply. After a moment, she finally spoke up, much to Harry's relief. "D'ya know that we...people of tha' night, are obliged ta take care of those we turn in, right?"

"No, I didn't, errr...miss...?"

The vampire jumped a bit before extending a long, pale hand, a contrite expression plastered on her face. "Sorry. I'm Priscilla. Priscilla Carisse Dane," she introduced herself, as Harry wearily shook her limb, a little bit more comfortable with her than before. _Well...here goes nothing... _"Harry. Harry Potter," he reciprocated, bracing himself for the familiar...

"What? Ya're THA' Harry Potter? Tha' real one?" she blabbered, her accent deepening dramatically.

_Bingo. Just as I thought._

_Six hundred and ninety-seven. Three more and I'll have seven hundred_, Harry tiredly thought, ignorant of how he could still find irony within himself in such moments. He pushed raven-colored bangs of hair out of his forehead, unmasking the familiar, bolt-shaped scar. Priscilla gaped at him for a whole minute before shaking her head. "Oooh...that's rich...Harry Bloody Potter, savior of tha' wand-wavers...now a people of tha' dark," she said, wincing in anticipation. "Wait till yar world learns that - they gonna go flip-flop 'round their houses, trousers on their heads, bet ya," she joked, eliciting a wry smile from her companion. Her grin slowly turned into a full-blown laugh, drawing the attention from a couple bystanders towards her antics. She kept on giggling for a few minutes next to a grumpy-looking Harry, before she raised a hand to wipe the tears out of her eyes. "Ah - serves them right. With all that they've been doin' during those centuries. Need a real shock ta get their minds straight, I tell ya," she declared, piping her mirth down as she took in his downcast expression. "Sorry if I offended ya - but I was laughing at yar...world, yar community, I mean. It's not like we, Nightstalkers, hold them dear if ya get ma' point," she clarified apologetically, eliciting from her interlocutor a weary, inquisitive frown.

"Oh, come on, d'ya really think we would snog them senseless with all tha' hunts they led in tha' past to eradicate us?" she asked, her mood switching to a testy tone. Harry held up a hand, trying to calm her sudden anger. "Keep it down, I didn't want to anger you, but I don't have a straight mind right now. I still need to take everything in - it's so...so..."

"Confusing," she proposed flatly.

"Yeah."

"Typical," she commented, flipping her long hair behind her shoulders in a graceful shrug.

"'Suppose so," begrudgingly admitted Harry, absently staring at the dance room where people were still moving to the sporadic beat of house music.

"Looks like yar life's now completely fucked from beginning to end," she deadpanned.

"'Like my life has been everything BUT happy," Harry groused resentfully, making Priscilla smirk cynically.

"Do ya think ya're tha' only one in tha' shitter, fang-boy?" she asked, taking a sip of her Bloody Mary and looking at the young wizard from the corner of her eye. Harry blinked in surprise and stared back. "I beg your pardon?"

"Ya assume ya're tha' only guy who ever hadta cope with problems. What about tha' others in tha' world who hafta pour their blood on tha' floor an' burn their lives just ta get something ta EAT? What 'bout those? And tha' people who hafta lose their strength an' health in God-knows-what just ta be able ta LIVE?" she pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

Harry bowed his head, ashamed by her verbal correction. "Sorry - I was selfish. Once again."

"As long as ya recognize yar faults an' make amends for them, fine by me. But ya really hafta work on that," she said, before shrugging dismissively and giving the bartender a tip.

"At the moment, it's the least of my concerns. I got other things to do first," Harry sighed, feeling a headache pointing at the horizon and raising its ugly head in glee.

"Mmmh," mused Priscilla, looking at him with a thoughtful expression. "Tell me - ya homeless, aren't ya? Ya don't look like ya got somewhere ta live..." she pondered, examining his posture. "How do you know that?" Harry stammered, perplexed at her knowledge of his status. The vampire waved him off, dismissing the comment. "I can tell - ya look like ya don't know in which direction tha' north is. Ya keep looking around ya, like ya're lost. I guess that's a part of it - but I just deemed ya ran from ya friends an' family, right? Lotsa people of our kind do that after they've been turned in," she explained, rising from her seat. "Fancy a walk?"

Harry considered her proposition for a moment then gave in. "Oh, why not, after all. What have I left to lose?" he sighed, dropping some money for the bartender. He hopped off his stool and followed his new companion outside, feeling relieved when the noise coming from the pub was immediately muffled by the closing door, tuning down the onslaught of sound waves.

Priscilla looked him over, taking in his uncomfortable state. "Ya really look like hell, fang-boy. Not surprising. I didn't look any better after I got tha' bite." Harry absently nodded, not noticing the vampire's eyes grow distant for a scant second, as if lost in memories.

"Who would?" Harry asked rhetorically, still looking for a hypothetical way out of his predicament. Vampirism wasn't treatable and therefore reversible. Once you were one, you remained in that state till the ends of time, unless someone had either the obsession or the leniency to kill you and put an end to the curse.

"The dead, maybe. But let's not fret on that. Come wi'me, we got a few things ta' talk about," she announced, taking him towards Little Disraeli Avenue, mingling with the night-living throngs. Both of them drew queer looks from male and female individuals, making Harry squirm in unease. _Hate it when they're looking at me like that. They remember me of those girls who wanted me for the Ball in fourth year_, he thought, shuddering at the memory. _Next thing I don't need is a score of rutting girls pouncing on me or eyeing me like I'm a pack of meat. Even if they find me gorgeous. _For a moment they walked in silence before Priscilla broke the uneasy tension. "What are ya going ta do now that ya're one of us?"

Harry mulled that thought over but found no answer within him. "Dunno. I think I'm going to find myself a place to live in, but it's not like I got any money to afford myself a cozy flat or even a wooden cabin in a backyard," he said, stifling a dry laugh. Priscilla narrowed her eyes, deep in concentration. "What 'bout ya friends?"

That sentence made Harry stop in his tracks and Priscilla look back in confusion. "They're the reason why I left."

"What?" Her eyebrows rose a bit, both in confusion and mild annoyance.

Harry took a deep breath in and looked skywards, gazing somberly at the full moon. "They - well, they're wizards. You know?" he asked uncertainly, feeling relieved by her nod of acquiescence. "Wizards are horribly prejudiced even if you're a Muggleborn - I mean, if your parents were magical. I realized a few months ago, after I discovered that one of my teachers was a werewolf, that a wizard's education does not, in fact, enforce _respect_ of magical creatures. In fact, it does the opposite. We're unconsciously taught to fear them by learning what they are and what they can do. I still remember in our Care of the Magical Creature and Defense Against the Dark Arts classes having to read grisly tales about kappas shredding innocent bystanders to bits and werewolves eviscerating innocent people. After discovering things like that you do not exactly want to acquaint yourself with people who are shunned away by the wizarding society. Those lessons instill fear in us. Not respect and acceptance."

"Ya're afraid of rejection, aren't ya?" Priscilla gently asked, taking a step towards the downcast wizard, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I can understand. My friends and I...drifted apart tha' day they learnt about my...illness. They sticked by me for tha' first few months but after that...well, it became clear that they were very uneasy near me an' wanted ta sever ties with me but were reluctant ta' do so...by pity, mostly. So instead of having them leave me I abandoned them," she confessed. "Seems we are in tha' same boat, heh?" she asked Harry with a sort of wry smile.

"Yeah."

"About yours - are they really THAT bad?"

"No," Harry admitted. "At least Hermione isn't. But Ron, well, he was rather uneasy about giants and half-giants. When he learnt about another of my teachers being one," he said, drawing a strange look - which bordered on amazement mixed with respect - from his companion. "He went rather...queer. I guess it's because he's a pureblood and was raised that way. But vampires are HATED by my...former world. I can only guess what his reaction would be...and that's only for him. I don't want my other companions to send me away to St Mungo's or something like that. So I had to run away."

Priscilla opened her mouth but Harry cut her off. "Don't get me wrong. I'll deal with this vampirism thing. But I can't deal with my friends. Not now. Not here. I don't want them to look at me with pity in their eyes. That'd be the last thing I'd want right now," he uttered painfully.

"I see - so ta' sum everything up: ya left ya home, ya friends, ya world and ya actually haven't got a goddamned clue where ta' go. What's more ta' say, ya aren't trained ta yar full extent. Yar powers are still bound together. If ya don't learnt to unleash them ya'll feel like a champagne bottle being swung 'round without having its cork removed. Ya'll finally break down 'cause ya feel very uneasy. Like ya've got something that wants ta' burst out of ya but can't release it."

"Oh."

Priscilla put a pale hand on her chin and thought for a minute or two, before resetting her gaze on Harry. "Come wi'me."

_Sure, why not, after - huh? What was that?_

"Huh?"

"Ya're coming with me," Priscilla declared, crossing her arms and frowning in a 'contradict me and you'll be eating your balls' way.

"What for?" Harry asked, starting to panic.

"I'm going ta' train ya an' that's final!" she half-snarled at his slow mind.

"Wait a minute -" he started.

"I won't take 'no' for an answer. Ya're going ta' live with me," she hammered, pushing a finger on his chest to emphasize her point.

Harry shut up, his self-preservation instinct kicking up and advising him not to add anything else.

_Bloody hell. Looks like this night's completely totaled._

* * *

_To be continued..._

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**A/N:**

OC introduced - check. Harry out of his world - check. New home - check. Order confused - no check, not yet. What's left? Ah, that's for the next chappie, I think. Any suggestions for later ones? Mind ya, I'll take serious ones, 'kay? Pairing things, no. Flames, no (look at my profile page for my reasons). Oh, as for why the vampire burst into flames, well, that'll be explained in later chapters. Let's just say he had a bad reaction to something. The clever ones will easily guess what I'm talking about. Oh, another thing. My previous fics showed the series through multiple points of view. I'll try to stick just to Harry's standpoint this time. It will leave some details out but I just want to try. If it goes to hell, well, why should I bother using that style in the future? We'll see.

Otherwise, Ch. 02 got out quite easily. Well, nearly. Hopefully the flame won't extinguish itself. Surprisingly I find this series easier to write than HP-ASIT. Maybe because I'm sticking more to canon and not wandering in original features and data. Ah, well. Got something to ask me personally? Drop me an e-mail. And...oh, Skittles-07, you're lucky: not slash. But browse through my favorites' page and search for the 'Moonlit Nights' by AngelicDemon 16. Not slash either :-) Thanks for those who reviewed. And...

Read 'n' review!

C ya l8terz!


	3. Chapter 03: Way Back Home

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 03**

**v.01: 04/07/2005**

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**Official disclaimers:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

The copyright of _Crawling in the Dark_ belongs to Hoobastank and the Island Def Jam Music Group.

**

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**

**Chapter 03: Way Back Home**

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"Listen ta' me, Harry," advised Priscilla as she led him down to a rather homey district that seemed purely residential and very quiet. Though more modest than Privet Drive the brick houses that lined themselves against each other promoted a sense of traditionalism and closeness, enticing some comfort. Although Harry had never wandered this far through Little Whinging, he judged this area to be less hostile and inhospitable than his previous abode with the Dursleys. "Tha' first thing ya need ta' know is that we vampires are creatures of tha' night. In essence, predators. Hunters. We're imparted by Nature with some abilities that are rather useful when we...hunt," she explained, taking care to leave the last part out so as to not confuse her new charge. She knew that Harry was still confused about his new state and had to pipe her explanations down for his sake. No need for the young lad to die of meningitis tonight.

"For centuries we've evolved. If ya listened carefully ta yar history lessons," she continued, before stopping bemusedly at Harry's wry snicker. "Okay - never mind, sounds ya're not an education swot - vampires were first nothin' but corpses revived by necromancers who lucked out in their search for immortality. There're three types of our species: tha' Undead, tha' Turned an' tha' Dormant. Tha' first race is tha' most ancient of the Trinity...the Undead are nothin' but resurrected corpses. They aren't exactly vampires as you picture them. Just soulless bodies that kill everything that moves less than ten meters away. They don't spread their illness around - ya can conjure Undead but not contaminate living people with their bite. Ya need a corpse ta create a new Undead, not a body with a beatin' heart. Tha' wand-wavers just call those fuckers 'zombies'. They do like ta' drink blood but they don't use it ta' replenish their vital force. They're dead therefore they don't need any nutrients ta maintain their health up. That's where tha' Turned come in. I'm a Turned like ya," she interjected with a bright smile before Harry could voice his question. "A guy or a chick that got bitten by a fellow vamp. In tha' beginnin', for all our community can remember, Turned people were individuals bitten by magical _bats_. They were exclusively wizards whose magic badly reacted ta tha' inflicted wound an' started mutatin' but non-magical individuals eventually joined tha' group. Turned guys eventually shared some likenesses with those flyin' mammals but that's another tale. As ya can guess, Turned an' Undead are completely different. Like apples an' lemons but people just don' make tha' difference. They just say, 'that thin' bites or kills ergo it's dangerous. Period'," she concluded, looking back at the curious wizard, noticing his rapt attention.

"Then there are tha' Dormant. Those are guys - Muggles or magical folk - who were bitten by a Turned but didn't develop tha' vampirism symptoms durin' their lifetime but show extreme weaknesses such as immunity system deficiency an' tha' such. Get easily sick, that is. Puke all tha' time, have a rather pale body - got tha' idea. But when they die...they become vampires. Like tha' Turned. Livin' dead. But they aren't Undead, mind ya. Undead are zombies, nothin' more, nothin' less. The Dormant we can bear with but Undead are our enemies. Muggles, we tolerate perfectly but witches an' wizards, we must be dead-set weary of. Got it?" she asked, mindlessly staring at the lampposts overhead.

Harry nodded in confirmation, before looking at the modest-looking, red brick, unlit house they had arrived in front of. "That's my cot; 'tis not my true house - that's in tha' city's outskirts, more 'round tha' countryside. I jus' stay here for mah job in Little Whingin'."

"Oh," Harry quietly commented as they climbed the stairs towards the porch. Priscilla fished in her coat's pocket and withdrew a set of keys, selecting one to open the heavy oaken door and pushing it inwards. "Cm'in. If 'ma lucky, Lizzie's still in tha' dreamscape..." she whispered, keeping her voice down. Ushering her companion inside, she strode over to the elevator and entered the cabin, while pressing a pale finger on the third floor's button. "Lizzie?" Harry inquired.

"Ma little sis', 'kay?" she explained with a fond smile. "She musta be seven years younger than ya," she said, her eyes becoming distant. "Is she..." Harry ventured as the lift started ascending. The sound of the gears and metallic robes pulling up the cabin sounded like a cacophony made by heteroclite objects to his heightened hearing, the sounds beating hysterically against his eardrums. _Thanks the contraption's builder had had the good idea to furnish the inside with some padding._

"A vampire like ya an' me?" she replied bluntly, raising her blonde eyebrows. "She's got fangs, if ya want ta know. Was bitten tha' same night as meh. But at least I was trained. And I'll train her in turn when tha' time will be right," she declared just as the cabin came to a stop, ending the discussion. She opened the door and walked out, towards a small apartment bearing the name 'P. DANE'. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, beckoning for Harry to follow her. "Don' mind tha' mess, though. Lizzie's quite temperamental when I'm not there ta keep an eye on her," she warned, squinting in the darkness. Harry could see her pupils turning into catlike slits as she tried to investigate the darkness - _must be another side effect of vampirism_, Harry assumed. _Looks wicked and scary, though. I hope nobody would try to wake me up in one in the morning with such eyes and turning the lamps on... _She flipped the light switch on, giving Harry a view of a small, cozy living room full of books and dolls. There were some packs of junk food around but Harry overlooked that as he was used to unkempt places like his former bedroom in four, Privet Drive or his erstwhile dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. _If Hermione were to see this she would be screaming bloody murder, with all those books lying around and that disorder..._the wizard thought. _No, beat it, she'd be howling to the moon about a shameless genocide. Two seconds later she'll be torturing her hand out by writing the first draft of the 'Society for the Promotion of Books' Welfare and Preservation'..._ Priscilla's voice made him jump out of his daydream.

"Listen - get tha' room there," she indicating, pointing at the said area, "it's vacant. I normally use it as a guest room but I think I'll have a more permanent use for it," she continued, grinning at Harry. "O...okay..." he said, feeling uncomfortable at invading her home. "I...I'd like to...to thank you for your hospitality...I...I didn't want to intrude and I..." he stammered before Priscilla stopped him with a raised hand. "Spare that for tha' deaf, Harry. I'm not gonna listen - you're just welcome. It's mah duty as a fellow vampire, ya know. Nightstalker one day, Nightstalker always!"

Harry smiled slightly at the odd-sounding motto. "Is that what you call yourselves? The Nightstalkers?"

"Yup! People of tha' Dark, Moon Biters, Shadow Walkers, Shade Skimmers, Fang Folk, got quite a list ta start with," she smirked before turning serious. "An' tomorrow night we'll go for our first night of huntin' so that ya'll get tha' hang of what a Nightstalker truly is."

Harry spun around and stared at his companion, nearly shouting "WHAT?" before his interlocutor snapped a finger close to her lips and jerked her head towards a door with the drawing of a pink bunny labeled 'LIZZIE THE RABBIE' pinned on it. "Err...sorry."

"Nah, shouldn't have startled ya like that. There're times I'll be very business-like, so sorry if I didn't warn ya beforehand...but we'll still be goin' for a hunt tomorrow - ya need ta control yerself and ya hafta learn that tha' hard way, like me," she justified before heading for a small corridor. "Tha' bathroom's on tha' left and yar new room's on tha' right. That's it - tha' one at tha' end of tha' corridor. Good. I'll check up on Lizzie while ya make yerself comfy in yar new quarters, 'kay?" she asked, winking. Harry smiled weakly and complied, shuffling nervously towards the restroom.

He strode over to the faucet and splashed some water over his face before facing the small, square mirror in front of him. He noted grimly that there wasn't any reflection of himself anymore. He shook his head sadly and resumed his ablutions, hoping for the cold fluid to cleanse his fevered mind from any lingering torment. He picked a spare, clean toothbrush and began washing his teeth, tidying himself a little before going to sleep. _Looks like I'm gonna have a field day tomorrow. Hopefully the Order won't find me here - it isn't as if they did raise a finger to make sure I was safe, is it? _he grumbled within the confines of his distraught mind, feeling his anger towards the Order skyrocket at a phenomenal rate. _Why didn't they bloody come to my help? _he raged, not understanding why Dumbledore would so suddenly abandon his 'weapon' and wouldn't deign intervene during the attack - even by just dispatching one of his godforsaken lackeys. _I'm going to get my answers one day - when he'll be on his deathbed_, Harry vowed. _If that's their idea of how I should be protected then I don't need to have them as acquaintances of mine, _he concluded his reasoning, a somber resolution filling his insides. His inner coldness seemed to recede for a moment then came back full-force as his ire vented out. _I knew they were watching me. Every time I was heading out for a walk there was one of those goons spying on me and telling me to be a good little boy, stay home and behave..._he sneered. _Look where my overflowing trust got me..._

He shook his head in resentment and headed out of the bathroom, making sure to close the door behind him without causing any disturbance. At the same time, Priscilla emerged from Lizzie's bedroom, wearing a small smile on her thin lips. She spotted him stepping towards his new quarters and put a hand on his shoulders before he came in. "Hey, Harry, if ya don' feel okay tonight, don' hesitate ta' wake me up, right? I once met a couple of freshly turned Vampires who were staggering outta their house completely outta their minds. 'Was just after they got their bite. They had nightmares for the whole week, I guarantee ya," she warned the wizard who nodded tiredly and muttered his thanks before entering his room. "Night, Priscilla."

"Night, Harry," she replied softly, watching him close the door before withdrawing to her own room.

With that, Harry plopped down on his bed, completely exhausted, not even bothering to remove his clothes. Memories of the attack plagued his mind for the remainder of the night but contrarily to what his new mentor had proposed, he didn't get up to seek some comfort as he was too tired for that. His tossing and turning continued till early morning.

And nightmares resumed their rulership over Harry's mind.

---

A slow staccato was the one sound that jarred Harry Potter from his journey in the land of dreams. In his current state he could have lived through a nuclear bombing but his ears nonetheless picked up the caesura in the heavy silence that permeated his bedroom. A first it was a faint group of taps that grew in intensity, probably frustrated by Harry's lack of reaction. Then they came faster until the aforementioned teenager moaned in his bed, turning around in his sheets to shield his ears from the disturbance. That sign of activity, however, was enough to discard the remnants of Harry's sleep away and bring him back to full awareness. _Where's that woodpecker so I can wring its neck?_ Harry grumbled. Dazed and confused at the foreign surroundings, he sat up, trying to get his bearings but ending up completely lost. _Where am I?_ he asked himself again, hearing some rapid-beat music in the distance. He turned towards the window and saw a rather disgruntled Hedwig snapping at the window with her beak, wildly gesturing to her master to let her in.

It was the moment when he saw his pet that the memories came back like a tsunami ravaging everything in its path.

With an audible gasp, he jumped out of his bed and went to the dresser, where a mirror stood, completely ignoring his now outraged owl. "HOOT!" The place where his reflection would have normally stood was completely blank. "No..." he said, futilely trying to deny the truth. He tore his shirt open and saw the deep gashes over his jugular and shoulder - the last sign of infamy Fate could have given him, no fading into large, whitish scars. Wallowing in shock, he collapsed in a nearby chair and spent several minutes panting as he took the revelation in. _Wasn't a dream, wasn't a dream_, he chanted within himself. Then, as if to reinforce Harry's point, all that happened later that night returned, reminding the Boy-Who-Lived where he now was. "HOOT HOOT!" came the angry cries from his avian companion, startling the young vampire from his musings. He rushed towards the windowsill and let the bird in - earning himself quite a few slaps from Hedwig's wings as a punishment for his tardiness. He grumbled something about insensitive owls then looked around, knowing that his pet wouldn't listen to him until she let her anger cool down, and decided to look after more pressing matters. _Now that I think of it - where's Priscilla?_

He rose wearily from his chair, feeling a growing headache take residence and immediately started for the door. As he stepped into the corridor he became aware of many scents like lavender, mimosas and lemon, all mixed in a sweet fragrance that taunted his nose like a whirlwind of caresses. Other small, incongruous noises assaulted his ears, like everlasting waves that came and went away, never the same but forming a strange symphony of motley sounds that sounded oddly melodic. And...hell, he was even able to hear the next-door neighbors have a quick morning, err...well, 'deep display of affection', through the wall! Trying to shut off that type of data from his oversensitive ears, he focused on his immediate surroundings, trying to locate the kitchen. He was soon aware of Priscilla's voice, singing some lyrics that struck a painful chord within Harry's heart. Numbly guiding himself towards the music, he found himself staring at the female vampire preparing breakfast while listening to the radio and singing along, too drawn by her activity to notice the young wizard uncertainly standing in the doorway, mesmerized by her tones and her easy attitude.

As the singer's voice and the guitar's thrumming left place to the vapid comment of a rather upbeat radio animator, Harry started clapping, showing his admiration at her singing qualities. The abrupt sound caused Priscilla to whirl around in surprise, clutching her knife. "Phew - ya surprised me, Harry. Don' do that!" she gasped, holding a hand to her chest. At Harry's amused stare she clarified, "humans aren't exactly subtle in their walkin' but vampires are born predators. We do lil' to no noise when we walk. It's harder for us to locate each other, 'specially when we have our minds occupied..."

"Oh," said Harry, bowing his head. Priscilla saw that and bopped him on the occipital, wrenching her new student from his downcast mood. "Don't ya start on meh, fang-boy! Ya definitely need ta' change that attitude of yars," she drawled, winking in an encouraging way. "After some time, actually, bein' a vampire isn't that bad, ya know?" she said, startling Harry.

"How can you say that?" he asked incredulously. _How can being a bloodthirsty, neck-biter be agreeable in the long term?_

"Ya've just been turned, Harry. Give yarself some time and ya'll see what I mean. Very helpful when ya want ta travel or walk unnoticed, an' downright necessary when ya're doing certain activities or job that require discretion," she explained, setting a couple bottles of marmalade on the table.

"Oh," commented Harry, rushing forward to dress the table and assist his host. "There - I'll get that."

"Thanks - ooh...at long last I've found a man who has tha' guts ta assist a helpless woman without bein' asked beforehand! Holy God, take meh, what I've been searchin' for has finally been found! I've no reason ta live for anymore!" she mock-wailed dramatically, making Harry smirk in derision. "That's better, Harry," she said, seeing at least some mirth in his darkened eyes. "I prefer that Harry to tha' one I met yesterday night."

"Ah."

"Yeah," she confirmed before looking at him uncertainly and with a bit of...unease? "But before we start eatin' that stuff," she tried, gesturing at the bread, sausages and eggs on the table, "we should start drinkin' - ya feel more sated afterwards." What she did just after caused his arteries to double in volume.

She started unbuttoning her shirt.

Suffice it to say, much to Harry's utter bewilderment. "Hey -" he stammered. _What in the blazes is she doing? Assaulting a minor in the kitchen? Where's Superman when you need him?_ He looked on anxiously as she uncovered her left shoulder, letting him catch a glimpse of a lacy, white piece of underwear. She then nodded at him, beckoning him forwards. "C'mon - quit stallin' - bite me."

"What?" Harry stuttered, feeling rather faint at the moment. _Is she serious? I must either be dead and at the hands of the Demon of Temptation or in Heaven but the Angels must have a very, effing, sick mind!_ he thought feverishly.

"Vampires need blood, Harry - ya feel tha' headache, right? That's yar body beggin' for nutrients. A mortal's breakfast won't suffice since our digestive system is more demandin' than that of a normal human bein'. Tha' assimilation process asks for some richer food than that. And our bodies crave for somethin' that's rich in iron an' hemoglobin to make up for tha' specific lacks of our own blood chemistry." _Mortal?_ Harry wondered.

In a daze, Harry stepped towards Priscilla, before stopping a mere meter from his mentor and inching forwards, tentatively directing his growing fangs towards the nape of her pale neck. His head was drowning in morbid excitation, the prospect of nourishing himself bedazzling his nerves and overcoming his will. _I'm dreaming - I'm dead and I'm dreaming. Nirvana is not bliss - torture only with free rounds in the morning. Who wants some?_ "Bite!" Priscilla urged, snapping him out of his reverie. Impulsively, he sank his teeth in her smooth skin, feeling at first the taste of her mimosa-scented soap before his tongue met the sweet, satisfying and coppery flavor of the life-fluid gushing into his welcoming mouth. Taken over by a sudden frenzy, he started sucking off the liquid with increasing fervor, feeling himself strangely rejuvenated and overflowing with bursting energy. "Gentle, gentle!" squeaked Priscilla, taken aback by his thirst. Harry snapped out of his trance and relented, before pulling himself away, his stomach full despite the small amount of blood drunk. "My, my, aren't ya enthusiastic this mornin'," she said, a blush spreading through her embarrassed cheeks. Harry smiled weakly, navigating in the same abyss of unease. "But ya hafta return meh tha' gesture. My turn!" she enthused, grinning broadly, her pupils dilating at the idea of feeding herself. _Oh brother - God - Holy Lennon of Hashish - Mahatma Gandhi - Saint George, whoever's up there - make it quick and painless! And chisel on my grave 'Here lies Harry Potter; he lived as good and fine as an Old Ogden's bottle and finished in the same fashion and decorum. Please raise your glasses and drink in his honor just like he was drunk to the bone'._

Priscilla tugged Harry's collar open and bit the deathly white neck, the gesture making the young vampire wince in pain as her canines buried themselves in the superficial layer of his flesh, digging deeper. As his blood was sucked out of his body he felt somewhat lightheaded, feeling his consciousness seeping away, just like yesterday night. "Ugh," he gurgled, trying to acclimate himself to the feeling of having somebody siphon the hell out of your neck. _Sweet Merlin in Avalon..._he prayed, hoping not to spend the rest of the afternoon like an oversized, deflated balloon. After a couple seconds Priscilla pulled out, smiling gratefully. "Ah - youn' blood, excellent," she praised. "Fresh an' quite tasty, I must say," she commented, making her charge blush. As she turned around her eyes fell on a small girl, barely nine, standing in the doorway with wide, surprised eyes at the display. "Cilia?" she prodded, making herself known for the first time, and nearly sending both vampires to jump through the ceiling in horrid surprise. "Oh - Liz. Cm'here, I got someone ta introduce ta ya," Priscilla stammered, kneeling towards the little girl who was still wearing a frilly nightgown. Lizzie ambled towards her sister, eyeing Harry warily.

"Harry, this is Lisa-Maria, my sister. But she prefers Lizzie or Liz. Liz, this is Harry," she said, introducing each individual to each other. Harry shook the little girl's hand, smiling at her comfortingly. Lizzie clasped his hand suspiciously but didn't voice her opinion towards that stranger that had suddenly appeared in her flat, drinking her sister's blood. "He'll be livin' with us for a while - I'll be trainin' him."

Lizzie dropped Harry's hand and shot a displeased glance at her sister. "Training? What 'bout me?" she whined, her round features dropping into a disarming pout.

Priscilla shook her head, nonplussed by her sibling's antics. "When ya'll be older, Liz. He needs ta be trained first because he's got no home an' he's older than ya. And if he decides ta live on his own he'll hafta have a crash test on vampirism," she softly explained, attempting to quench her younger sister's burning disappointment. "'Kay?"

"I'm sorry if you cannot be trained with me, Liz," Harry apologized. "I don't want to be a bother but my coming here was something a bit rushed an unexpected." Lizzie shook her head, her mood slightly lightened by the awkward explanation. "'S okay. I'm sorry if I got angry," she mumbled, her voice more subdued - laced with wisps of resigned disappointment.

"Don't be. I understand," Harry assured her. Priscilla beamed at the two and came back to the table, beckoning her two companions to the food already prepared. "Come on, chow time, guys! Got a long day before us!"

_Sure. People always said that there was no better way to discuss important things but around a good meal or drink. So why not...?_

The three settled themselves around the table and started eating, devising the day's plans. Harry soon learnt that Priscilla owned her parents' old bookshop and worked there fulltime so that she could earn some money to study at Oxford. She had originally wanted to be a nurse but her lack of money had prevented her from attending the university courses and eventually take the Hippocratic Oath in front of her profession's representatives. Harry guessed by her suspicious, consequent silence that her becoming a vampire had also a hand in the delays she had encountered in building her future. What was more strange was the fact that she lived with a nine year-old sister, who should normally be living with her parents. He deduced from there that both were recent orphans but didn't want to ask the quite sensitive question. He knew what to lose one's father and mother meant and the amount of hurt the reopening of old wounds could produce. In between two questions about their apartment's arrangements, Harry was bombarded by inquiries shot by an inquisitive Lizzie - who wasn't very looking forward to living with someone she didn't even know the day before, despite her being quite curious about that raven-haired boy that sat near her like an old family friend. Harry could understand her confusion, though. He wasn't very seduced by the whole situation but accepted the facts without grousing. _It's over my head - don't ask me to fix it_, he sent the unspoken message to the little girl who understood the meaning of his downcast eyes.

At long last, Priscilla rose from her seat and started cleaning up, leaving Harry to wash the dishes and put them in the cupboard. Lizzie, for her part, retreated to her own room to dress herself for school. After a dozen minutes, Harry returned to his bedroom and un-shrunk the trunk he had stuffed in his trousers' pocket, noticing that Hedwig was a little bit more amiable when she saw him coming back with some spare pieces of bacon. He rummaged through the contents of the big container and found a clean set of clothes and slipped them on, complaining about his now being like a fish out of water.

"At least I'm not in the Order's hands or near dear old Voldie - that's the least I could ask for," he amended, settling for a wry smile. Snapping his watch over his wrist, he headed out of his room and saw both girls readying themselves for outside. Two minutes later, a prim-looking Priscilla, an unsure Harry and an overly enthusiastic Lizzie wearing a Teletubbies satchel on her back found themselves standing on the street, in front of Priscilla's old Ford. The older vampire helped her younger sister strap herself on the back seat and sat herself in the conductor's place, beckoning Harry to join her in the front end. She started the engine and gunned down the road, towards Lizzie's school, where, five minutes later, she dropped the little bundle of excitement, relinquishing her care to that of her fellow classmates and professors. Harry eyed the little figure hopping towards her friends who rushing forward to greet their comrade. He couldn't but feel a little jealousy towards Lizzie who could at least have some friends of her own. Unlike him who had forsaken his. For their sake. And his own.

_God knows if they will be able to forgive me...but as much as I could try to think about it...it doesn't matter anymore..._

_Not any longer._

"I hope she won't be braggin' 'round 'bout havin' a new roommate," Priscilla mumbled upon her return in her vehicle, frowning worriedly at the idea. Harry blushed discreetly and said nothing, not feeling like entering that sort of conversation. _No need to die of hemorrhage today, Harry, keep yourself Zen and think of something else, like Snape making a lap dance in front of McGonagall...yeah, definitely._ With that, Priscilla returned back to the growing traffic, dodging cars with an eerily ease probably due to her improved reflexes. After a ten-minute drive the two vampires arrived at a little street perpendicular to Little Disraeli Avenue, one of the main arteries of Little Whinging. A lot of people passed through that area since the small town was situated in London's commuter belt and Harry guessed that Priscilla and her parents gained quite a lot of money judging by the number of people that wandering near the shop. _But then affording oneself studies isn't something that easy. It requires a lot of Sterling pounds_, Harry figured.

"There we are," happily declared Priscilla, looking at the small house whose ground floor was used to house the bookshop. Harry glanced at the small, bright ensign embossed with the golden letters 'BOOKLETS AND PAPERS' and the date '1933'. "Wow," Harry breathed. "Your grandparents founded it?"

"Yep," she confirmed proudly. "Business's passed from one Dane generation ta another," she said, her gaze darkening a bit. Harry, however, didn't notice her small frown, as he was still looking at the display window, full of magazines, little books and newspapers. "Your average bookshop, eh?" he suggested, turning towards his new mentor, busy opening the front door with her keys. "Indeed," she replied, heading inside and disabling the alarm system set beside a nearby mantelpiece. "Since my parents figured that convertin' themselves into a specialized shop wouldn't bring them much income we broadened our choice of products an' books. We sell novels, blottin' paper, encyclopedias, dictionaries, diaries, newspapers, stacks o' paper, ball pens, documentaries, picture books, calendars - tha' whole inventory, ya see? That's what people are askin' for, not petty books only an insignificant percentage of tha' population would be searchin' for. We even have some coke and cigarettes there in the corner," she gestured towards the said location, showing him the arrangement of the ten-by-ten meter room. Harry nodded and trudged through the aisles, taking note of the different sections and guessing already the reason why she had brought him here.

"You want me to help you, right?" he questioned Priscilla, who was currently booting up the electronic cash register and connecting the credit card reader to the bank's transaction network. The female vampire looked up from her seat and sent him a small smile. "Yep, that is, if ya don't mind ta. I'm rather busy all day long an' I wouldn't mind havin' some help," she explained, looking at the boxes full of books behind her. "I'll pay ya for yar help, though," she continued. "Since this area's quite busy in tha' mornin' an' midday I have sometimes trouble satisfyin' tha' clients' needs all in good time an' some of them even leave tha' shop without purchasin' anythin' - because of tha' queue so if ya could help meh with tha' money processin' I'd be REALLY happy and ya'd make my day," she proposed, grinning hopefully. Harry nodded in understanding and took a long look around him.

The prospect of working and earning his own money was _very_, very seducing and the longer he thought about it, he realized that it was the perfect way to keep his mind clear of yesterday's evening. And he would be close to Priscilla who could give him tips about the vampire life. Their being near each other could greatly help him manage his new life. The temptation was so irresistible that he couldn't help but have a smile playing on his lips.

"I think you can count me in," he answered, eliciting a delighted squeal from Priscilla, who hugged him in thanks. "Thanks, Harry. I really appreciate it," she smiled, releasing him before returning excitedly towards the counter to enter a connection password in the keypad. Harry coyly beamed in return and walked away, looking at the piles of boxes strewn near the corner of the store, obviously full of new arrivals.

"Are those...?" Harry asked, stepping forward to examine the contents of the sealed packs. Priscilla leant forward over the counter and nodded. "Yah - take tha' periodicals first, among with tha' newspapers - those are tha' most looked-for, novels an' guides can wait a lil' longer. Mags come second, especially tha' weekly ones. The monthly editions can be put inside tha' racks a bit later - jus' concentrate on those I pointed," she instructed. Harry acquiesced and looked over the order sheet sticked on the cardboard boxes, already restricting his priorities and efforts to a dozen few for the moment. As he hefted a pile of _Herald Tribune _and _Times_ copies over a nearby aisle and started cutting through the adhesives, he reminded himself how lucky he was to actually not have to worry about anything in this small shop. The proffered new life _looked _and _felt _appealing but he couldn't decide know whether to embrace it totally. A little voice in the back of his mind, which sounded a lot like Hermione Granger's, kept edging him to return back and explain to his friends what happened, but another one - which sounded more like Sirius Black's, advised to grab the offer and find a new way to enjoy life while he could.

_Carpe Diem - that's what Sirius would have wanted, wouldn't he?_

His lapsing into silence and stillness was not lost on Priscilla, who saw in the wizard's frozen stance the symptoms of deep doubt. Silently so as to not startle her new charge, she vacated her post and got herself behind Harry's back, before bringing her arms to encircle his torso reassuringly. Harry, unsurprisingly, tensed at the contact but relaxed a moment later, getting accustomed (but not enough, in Priscilla's opinion) to the show of support that begged for 'intimate' touch. As far as he knew, Harry had never been held like this, like a mother or even a _caring _relative would. He couldn't remember being soothed or sung a lullaby, as those memories were burrowed deep beneath the fog of forgotten times and were unlikely to resurface. He sighed deeply and tentatively cut the remainder of the adhesive, resuming his work. Priscilla took his renewal of activity as her cue and spoke up softly.

"Look, Harry, I know it's difficult for ya, but I promise I'll make ya see tha' light in tha' darkness, 'kay? I felt tha' same when I was turned in but I didn't despair. I was nearly catatonic but I pulled through. I'll make it easier for ya, I promise," she cooed comfortingly into his shoulder and making his insecurities slowly ebb away. Harry grunted his thanks and remained like that for several minutes before pulling away and searching for the first box to untie and empty of its contents. But his mentor's words remained in his mind, freshly imprinted like a footstep in the snow.

Maybe because she treated him as Harry and not as the Boy-Who-Lived he felt himself trusting her more easily than anyone else at the moment, readily entrusting his care and safety to someone, who, surprisingly, he didn't know forty-eight hours ago. Maybe because she cared more about his mind's health than his body's, too...

Something nobody had showed him before, in that way...apart from the Weasleys and Hermione...

Her promise, unlike any other one he had heard yet, sounded true.

Sincere.

---

Returning back to the apartment was a very quiet affair, devoid of any disturbance. For once, Harry was marked by the peacefulness and comfort those premises of normalcy provided. Having grown up in an hostile family he never had any pacific homecoming as the Dursleys never missed a single opportunity to display their hate towards their own nephew. Quite demonstrative, Harry's relatives had been very proficient in expletives and not-so-subtle insults towards the young - then unaware - wizard, rendering those journeys quite delicate to handle, especially when all fronts on the proverbial battlefield were highly hostile. This time it was different.

Of course, he already had the leisure of savoring a comparable event with the Weasleys in second and third year, but never to such a high level. As he relaxed in his seat next to Priscilla, he found himself basking in the feeling of finally completing his own circle of life. He had found what he had lacked for so long. His change in demeanor was not lost upon the oldest female vampire, who couldn't help but smile at her charge's token of relief. At least Harry was in a different mood from that morning.

Dinner was quickly dealt with in the same fashion; once again, Harry was bombarded by questions from Lizzie's parts about his former life but answering all of them was no easy task as there were some subjects still sensible to touch in his opinion. 'Which school are you going to?' 'Do you have friends?' 'Where did you live?' Only Priscilla's vigil on her sister's unofficial interrogation session prevented him from being asked something either embarrassing or touchy - earning in the process Harry's heartfelt gratitude.

After tidying the apartment a bit, the three vampires went for a quick nap, enjoying their first chance to vent off their exhaustion and replenish their strength. As he relaxed his sore back on his mattress, Harry reflected on how relieved he had become with all the worries of his erstwhile world gone through the window. He had felt thoroughly elated by the distraction and new environment and was grateful for it. Once in his life he didn't have to worry about anything else or go back to his quarters with a downcast or bad mood. No, this time his lips curved into a faint grin - a token of his reviving soul.

Glancing around the apartment he had had the leisure of drawing within his mind a profile of his new cohabitants, which only held nothing but positive conclusions. Lizzie was still in the stutters of adolescence and dwelt in a period where the boundary between the toddler and the teenager began to dim - she was motioned by childish motives and passion but run by the growing determination and wisdom of someone treading the path towards maturity. She was quite fond of dolls and books but was rather reluctant to speak about them - as if considering those items as the bulwarks of a realm grownups were forbidden to enter. From time to time - as Harry glimpsed during the very short time he had interacted with her - she had opened up and allowed the two older individuals to enter her world but didn't let them through - which was more than Harry could have done himself. After all, under new orders he was still a stranger in a foreign land.

Priscilla was, however, a startling exception in terms of openness.

Many an artist through the ages had depicted certain individuals as unrefined epitomes, picturing them like monoliths, carved in a uniform material that wouldn't change despite the assaults of Time and Destiny. They were buxom embodiments of themes and characters. Sigils that forever last. Simple. Unsubtle. Highly predictable.

For example, Hermione would have been the symbol of studiousness and rationality, while Ron, for his part, could have been - among other things - likened to relaxation and slovenliness.

And so on...

Priscilla Carisse Dane didn't strangely abide by those rules, despite their apparent universality. The blond-haired girl was in fact a motley collection of many traits that swirled around like an ever-changing tornado, which sometimes coalesced into something more organic - fused together before being decomposed again. Insomuch that her mood was so changing Harry couldn't write down a psychological portrait of his host, despite all the hints she had given him during those few hours of company and hospitality. Cheerful but serious at the same time, while simultaneously remaining open and sometimes distant, she switched between noncommittal and concerned behaviors. What prevailed over those unpredictable features of hers, however, was her unchanging good nature, which shone through the haze that was her personality like a blinding beacon in the gaping darkness. What did she like? Books - that was a given provided her job - going out, enjoying a peaceful and quiet life, catering to her sister's needs...and so on. Harry couldn't help but be puzzled over the mystery that was Priscilla Dane. As a recently turned vampire, he had been able to sense her mood throughout the day thanks to his heightened perception and was quite baffled to see the complexity of her persona - it seemed like he was gazing at a stroboscope. He didn't doubt that most psychologists would probably sell their soul along with mother and father to the Devil in order to take a peek at her psyche and dismantle the gears of her soul.

Curiously, despite her seemingly open nature, Priscilla was quite reluctant to talk about her past. Her family wasn't off-limits but Harry sensed that she wasn't willing to deepen the subject without giving up a lot of her person - a price Harry knew she wasn't ready to pay. She often averted her eyes or changed the topic, unsettling a quite confused Harry who, nevertheless, complied with her desire to not talk any longer about such matters.

_She isn't anything like Molly Weasley, in any respect, save for the kindness, but it isn't overflowing...just the convenient, appropriate amount...neither intruding nor lacking strength. Perfect but quite intriguing. She's mischievous at times but not malicious. And then she goes brooding for a minute before returning with that smile of hers. She isn't a weathercock but there's something within her that seems strange...anyway...but not in a negative way. Disconcerting at an extent but no overly so._

_Like...she isn't saying certain things. But who am I to object to that?_ he wondered, shaking his head. _I also have skeletons in my closet. It's not like I'm going to toss them at her just for pleasure. Nobody likes to spill secrets around like a water hose. It hurts more than it relieves..._ His forest green eyes darkened at that topic of meditation, as it unveiled long buried thoughts that he didn't want to ever have again.

A short rap on his door made him turn his head and conclude his cogitation. "Enter!" he called.

Priscilla slipped her head in his room, wearing a slight smile. "Are ya rested?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, drawing himself up into a sitting position. "Why? Are we going now?" he inquired, his heart flattening with a smallish amount of dread. Hedwig was already gone for her nightly flights and he had been mulling alone over his own thoughts all evening long - his loneliness not adding anything positive to the building wait.

"If ya're up ta it, we're good ta go," she replied, shrugging casually. He nodded and got off his bed, following her towards the hall. Lizzie was in the living room, watching some nameless cartoon series, her attention enraptured by the show and solely riveted on the screen. "Liz," called her elder sister. "We're goin' outside for a walk - I'll be back as usual, 'kay? Harry's wi'me - so remember tha' routine," she said, enumerating her instructions for the evening. "...an' go ta' bed before nine o'clock - curfew time after that."

"Yes, Cilia. I know," Lizzie replied in a bored tone.

"Well, then, buh-bye!" she said, drawing Harry towards the front door and locking it behind them. The pair strode over to the elevator and one minute later they were stepping out in the street, looking at the sunset's reddish hues that washed over the city like a sea of falling blood. Harry found the metaphor quite fitting for vampires setting out for a midnight snack.

"'Kay - here we go," Priscilla spoke up, breaking him from his thoughts.

Without further ado, the two set off calmly for Little Disraeli Avenue, the center of Little Whinging's commercial and night-life activity. In the meantime, neither of them spoke about the prospect of hunting but well over books and sales. There was, as people said, times for everything. Timing was just of the essence.

And Harry was about to learn why.

---

"The _Velvet Hillside_? Strange name for a discotheque," commented Harry as the pair passed by a silent, imposing but watchful bouncer and entered the aforementioned, brightly illuminated building - in consequence being automatically assaulted by a pandemonium made of heteroclite sounds, seconded by a torrent of countless scents that spoke of tales about swinging bodies, brewing of ale and alcohol, nights spent drinking and strength wasted on spending the night with friends and fun. Harry's face scrunched up at first but his features relaxed as he got accustomed to the overflow of perceptions.

His unease, however, didn't pass by Priscilla's ever-present and omniscient eye.

"Busts tha' brain, huh?" she said loudly, over the raging music. Harry nodded. "It's a bit annoying at first but it's fading out," he responded in the same level. The two found an unoccupied table in a corner and quickly got in before anybody could snatch the place before them. A waiter automatically spotted the new clients and went over to greet them.

"A Bloody Mary for me," Priscilla commanded, flashing Harry a smirk, eliciting from him a wry smile and a shake of the head. "And a Sprite for me, thanks," he completed. The man nodded and left the two alone. Harry took his time to observe the surroundings, committing to memory the scene of a hundred individuals talking to each other, sipping drinks or tiring their muscles under the disco's baffles and stroboscopes, all relishing the plethora of eclectic sounds, colors and the upbeat animation. Eventually, the young vampire's mind wandered away, blocking out the world that wrapped itself around him, detaching from the fray and beginning a journey through the land of considerations. _I never thought I'd one day lose myself and my soul in a discotheque to wash off my worries. Well, not exactly, since I'm also here to learn how to hunt. Was Priscilla serious when she used that word?_ he wondered, not noticing Priscilla fixing him with inquisitive eyes. _I don't want to hurt anybody. One vampire - sorry, three - is already enough for this town. A fourth would be overkill - but then I don't know if we're the only three here. I should ask her one day. Speaking of which..._

"Watcha thinkin' 'bout?" crashed Priscilla's answer onto his hears, definitively severing him from his line of thought. Harry blinked in confusion but took a grip back on himself. "Oh - err - sorry. Just remembering how I once thought that I'd never get in discotheques to have fun and such...my guardians weren't very forthcoming when it came to letting me enjoy my free time," he explained, slipping a cold smile on his lips. He twirled a lock of hair around one of his fingers and pulled absently at the strand, lost in a country of sad memories.

"In fact - ya never got in a disco, right, fang-boy?" she pressed on, frowning a bit when Harry didn't respond - settling instead for a wry shrug. "Those relatives of yars - they never let ya go in places like this," she stated, easily guessing the truth. Harry shook his head, tacitly declaring the topic devoid of any interest. "For them, making me miserable was their own way to garner fun and spend the day in an agreeable fashion. So why let me enjoy myself when my depression is their road to heaven?"

Priscilla sighed loudly, making Harry widen his eyes. "Don't get angsty on meh, Harry. That of yar life's over. Period. Now - look 'round ya. What d'ya see? A discotheque. What d'ya feel? Animation. What d'ya smell? Tha' scent of fun. Are ya goin' ta ignore that an' let yar chance ta liberate yerself go 'way?" she asked, leaning forward to look at her charge in the eyes, rendering him quite twitchy at her change in demeanor. "It's not what I meant -" he started, before Priscilla's hand rose like a signal flag, announcing a 'full stop' order.

"Doesn't matter. We're here not only ta get our minds off a day o' work but also...ta...train," she specified clearly, holding a finger close to his chest. She brushed her blonde hair over her shoulder and set her elbow on the table, resting her chin against an upraised palm. "These, as surprisin' as it can be, are my favorite huntin' grounds," she indicated, just as the waiter came back with their drinks. The vampire fished in her purse and gave the employee a note, already asking for a second shot of alcohol. "People of tha' dark, like us, cannot always rely on inter-feedin' or inter-drinkin', as we call tha' act of suckin' at each other's neck. It doesn't bring tha' appropriate amount o' vitamins an' fibers needed ta keep us healthy an' therefore sane, since prolonged thirst often leads ta a mad craving for blood. So we go out an' find some preys ta feed ourselves upon. Huntin' is a major aspect or ritual of a vampire's life. Not only is it tha' main activity that enables us ta continue ta live but it is also a way ta maintain our reflexes, traditions an' habits alive. Don't take huntin' as a trivial matter - some vamps might take offence of yar casualness. Don't forget that if ya fuck up yar bitin', people could easily get killed or turned in. If ya start turnin' people in like a machine happily punchin' out tickets, we'll have a situation gettin' out of hand here. Not ta mention that tha' wand-wavers would barge in ta...ah, how d'ya put it? 'Set things right in accordance ta tha' law'. No need ta get ourselves in trouble because of repeated examples of foolishness."

She brought her glass to her lips and took her first shot before slamming the recipient back on its cardboard mount. "And, since it's somethin' really important for us, Nightstalkers, we choose our huntin' places very, very carefully. There are two approaches or strategies ta that part of our lives. Ya'll easily guess which ones they are. But let me tell ya why I chose that place," she continued, gesturing to the bustling establishment.

"I find it quite ironic an' convenient ta take a bite in discotheques - lotsa preys from which ya can easily choose tha' guy or chick accordin' ta yar tastes...and it makes tha' whole hunt both agreeable an' discreet," she continued, gulping down some of her beverage and licking her lips appreciatively. "Why? When ya bite someone, either ya knock him off by a special chemical contained in yar saliva or ya just render him quite senseless - in tha' first case, ya better do it in a secluded alley so that nobody will there ta see ya suckin' blood off a poor bugger or gal. In tha' second, tha' wound easily scars - up to tha' point that it becomes quite difficult ta notice even in broad daylight - so take care ta bite yar prey very lightly, otherwise he or she might be Turned - I'll explain ya later. Then...where was I? Ah, yes, if there's indeed a mark most people would take it for a hickey," she stated, eliciting a blush from Harry who tried to picture himself feasting on a poor innocent girl in a pub while trying not to gain attention from the other dancers. The picture his imagination came up with made him want to be sick.

"Tha' second scenario is harder ta use for yar own purposes," she amended, looking at the blazing neon lights rotating overhead. "Because, well, you can't remain like that for too long otherwise yar prey will suspect somethin'. And if that's tha' case, by that moment, he'll be feelin' dizzy because of our special saliva. It behaves like a somniferous substance, ya see. Imagine yerself in a disco holdin' someone ready to faint without raising the alarms of the patrons..." She let her sentence trail off before downing the rest of her Bloody Mary.

"I see - so, what are we doing tonight?" Harry asked unsurely. "First or second?"

Priscilla seemed to stare off into space for a couple of minutes then she returned her gaze onto Harry's slightly uneasy face. Her Cheshire cat grin told Harry everything he needed to know. The message it conveyed sent chills to wash over his spine. _So that's how someone who's ready to traipse into the middle of a minefield should feel_, the young vampire moaned mentally.

"Second scenario - disco-sucking!"

_Uuuurgh...bad picture..._

_Tell me why Voldemort now sounds like child's play?._

---

That night turned out to be one of Harry's most embarrassing moments he had to commit to memory - or more exactly vow to oblivion. Not only did he have to deal with the stress of being caught in the middle of a packed establishment full of excited people but he also had to perform one type of activity he had never been prepared for and therefore had no experience in.

Hitting on members of the opposite gender.

He couldn't honestly mention Cho Chang's case as a successful entry in his dating curriculum vitae as the whole business turned to naught because of the difficulties encountered in fifth year. There wasn't even any solid material that could have possibly provided any basis for a serious relationship - he had been seduced by nothing other than her beauty and she only longed to maintain her memory of Cedric Diggory through the last one who saw him alive. Truth be said, those couldn't be any excuses for tying love bonds between the two of them. And beyond that? It wasn't like he had the strong urge to follow every skirt that passed in front of his eyes and see whatever was under. He considered that as gratuitous and completely pointless.

Not to mention that Voldemort was something he had to divert all of his attention to, not towards the female community eligible for bachelorhood.

And on top of that, hobnobbing was not really his forte.

So...imagine someone dumped in that situation...what would he do?

Harry, in his case, strained to keep himself composed and not to bolt out of the building in shame and fear. He had had lived near girls like Hermione and Ginny but those relationships were nothing but _platonic._ He would have never dreamed about flirting with them. Not unless...unless what? The whole problem was a masquerade...a wanton act one could liken to the pre-nuptial rituals animals would do in period of rut but with no serious consequences afterwards...or very little, depending on the true outcome. As he tried to drill that information in his head as he 'danced' inside the discotheque with rhythm and blues he couldn't bring himself to reach for the nearest girl ("Don't take someone who's already taken or who's already married or you're gonna problems, namely a male fist getting familiar with yar eyes' sockets," had warned Priscilla as she dragged him towards the dance pad) and bite her.

_Bite her? Sucking off the nape of their neck? Giving them a hickey? I wager seeing Voldemort with a bushy haircut and singing 'Staying Alive' from the Bee Gees is a more likely scenario!_

He suddenly felt himself pushed on the side, towards a shorthaired brunette who welcomed him with a shy smile. Maneuvering around to see who had shoved him out of the way he was rather unhappy to meet the smirking face of one Priscilla Dane, who, quite infuriatingly, was now leaving the dance floor for their table at the back of the room. Grumbling inwardly, Harry struggled to keep a straight face.

_Okay, Harry - pedal to the metal! Show her what you've got. Don't think - just act and weep afterwards. If you're still alive to tell the tale to your descendants._

Slowly but surely he inched towards the girl, who seemed to light up with the closeness, clearly enjoying the flirting ritual. Their bodies were mere centimeters from each other, withdrawing at the rhythm of the music before getting closer again, as if taunting each other to finally take a bite to the forbidden fruit of sin. Hadn't he steeled himself over the past few minutes for such an encounter, Harry would have been sweating bullets at the moment. Sweat beads of nervousness but not of exhaustion as the ambiance and agitation in the discotheque exerted not only his senses by also his resistance to their paroxysm. The girl brushed against his side and Harry took advantage of the sudden gesture to lean forward, just as a rapid-beat mambo took over the previous funk tune. The lights flickered rapidly, reducing all dancers' vision. Harry took his cue and set his lips on her neck, near the right carotid - the main twin artery that brought blood to the brain. The girl was a bit startled but said nothing, instead relaxing slightly at his ministrations and going on with the act. His teeth gently pierced her alabaster skin, puncturing the smooth surface and slowly drawing the liquid beneath outwards. As Priscilla had instructed him so explicitly, he took great care not to get more than two millimeters of dental matter inside her body. His gums had to remain estranged from such an intimate contact.

Harry's efforts, much to his relief and later satisfaction, were greatly rewarded when his tongue met the coppery flavor of blood. After a few minutes or two, during which he alternated with two other girls so as to not rouse suspicion towards his antics, he was fully sated and deemed himself to be quite full - though his stomach held in no way any more than a hundred milliliters of life fluid - not very much for human standards.

As he vacated the dance pad, he saw Priscilla stand out of their table and head for the front door, beckoning him to follow her with a discreet tilt of the head. Quite miffed at that behavior of hers, Harry made his way out and found himself walking behind a nonchalant female vampire, happily gazing at the dark sky with a dreamy look.

"Good job - guess ya're no longer a 'canine virgin', as we call those who haven't bitten other people yet," she chuckled appreciatively. "Oh - forgive meh," she interjected, "yar...first time was wi'_me, _ya lil' lusty urchin!" she laughed, her mirth covered by a hand to tune down the rather embarrassing comment. Harry, however, thanks to his hypersensitive ears, caught her snipe and immediately flushed a bright red - which was now a strange sight for someone who could easily be mistaken for a marble statue because of his pallid complexion.

"Anyway, ya performed well tonight," she concluded, trying to chuck her protégé out of his brooding session. "Three girls - didn't know ya were a Don Juan in trainin', fang-boy?" she simpered, mocking his predicament. "An' ya went ta them all by yerself, ooooh...how _courageous_..." she cooed, putting her fingers on her lips as if awed or shocked by a sudden realization.

Harry flustered at that last quip, feeling the dams of his veins finally give way to a deluge of blood and his face consequently light up, not only in righteous indignation but in weariness.

"You did it on purpose!" he accused, pointing a shaking finger to an innocently smiling Priscilla. The female vampire just smirked in response and kept walking, nonplussed by Harry's frustration. "Nooo? What makes ya believe that, fang-boy?" she asked playfully, enjoying the livid (by vampiric standards, of course) look on Harry's face.

"You planned it all along - always giving me a shove on the left or on the right, to the nearest girl, despite you knowing that I have exactly NOT a single OUNCE of experience with girls! Don't try to deny it!" he hissed.

Priscilla shrugged dismissively. "Aaaah. Well, if I hadn't pushed ya towards that girl ya would have left tha' disco on an empty stomach, fang-boy. Besides, what better way ta teach a guy a new trick than by throwin' him into tha' fray without any warnin'? It's like swimmin' - either ya try to learn it on dry land or ya jump in tha' nearest swimmin' pool. Ya get much better results with tha' second option 'cause ya actually experience tha' whole business."

"Still, that was uncalled for-" Harry gingerly tried to get his point across.

Priscilla sighed rather exasperatedly and stopped in her tracks, nearly making Harry collide with her. A couple young bystanders turned around to see what had caused that beautiful, pale-skinned blonde to get upset but soon walked on, leaving the pair with their own problems. "Look - ya are a people of tha' night, whether ya want it or not - it's not a matter of choices, because that decision is not in yar hands. It's in nobody's. Okay?" she hissed. Harry nodded. "Good. I'm sorry ya hafta learn tha' whole shit like that but it can't be helped. Trainin' is never an easy process, but tha' harder it is, tha' better tha' results are."

"'Could have gone easy on me, though - 'didn't cost anything," Harry pointed out a bit sullenly.

"Quit whinin'. I'm rather tempted ta tap tha' admiral now," she replied briskly, resuming her walk among the night throngs of Little Disraeli.

"Tap the admiral?" Harry asked quizzically. Priscilla raised an eyebrow. "Not familiar with tha' expression? It's purely British - when Horatio Nelson died in tha' Battle of Trafalgar, his body, ta prevent it from decayin', was kept in a barrel o' rum because they had nothin' else to dip it in. That's how they brought his body back ta England for proper burial in great pomp. Tha' problem was that tha' sailors on tha' admiral ship - tha' HMS _Victory_, I think - wanted ta celebrate their victory and since they were quite thirsty, they took turns extractin' glassfuls o' rum from tha' barrel they'd thrown tha' body in," she explained delightedly, amused by the disgusted look the history lesson gave to Harry. "And when they came back, tha' barrel was completely empty - save for Nelson, o' course. 'Tappin' the admiral' means havin' quick, casual drink shots, mostly liquors. It's British slang, though."

"I get it." _Mmmh. Quite the suburban girl, huh? Lingo, behavior - but knowledgeable in the same type. Infuriating one second, calming the other. Opinionated at moments but mostly tolerant. Strange mix I've got here. Heat and cold. Night and day. To make it short, strange but not unwelcome_, Harry judged, garnering that piece of information into his memory.

"And now, what are we going to do?" he proposed, feeling suddenly very tired out by those jumbles of emotions thrown at his head.

"I'm goin' ta take a quick bite and then...well, let's just envoy tha' night, will we?" Priscilla said.

"Alright," Harry agreed, reluctantly following her towards another bar.

_Even though it's really freaking at the moment I think I'm going to like this new life..._

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_**To be continued...**_

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**A/N:**

Okay, three down. One thing you've got to know: people will probably flame me because it remotely looks like 'The Moonlit Nights' by Angelic Demon16 - the fic that in fact inspired this one - but I'm trying to go somewhere else than where that author is going - don't get me wrong, I absolutely love that series. I don't intend to do a rewrite of TMN but I endeavor to put my own pinch to the concept throughout my series. Add a few OCs and whatnot. I'll also insert a few things from Hellsing (I skimmed through the first manga books) about what the vampires can do...otherwise, well...trying to keep originality up will be hard as people will probably have done that before me...but I'll give it at least a try. Oh, if you see something strange or if I contradict myself, don't hesitate to tell me. There are some parts that are kept quiet for later purposes but that doesn't mean I'm forgetting some details. To err is human but to persevere in that is simply diabolic, as the saying goes. Cornflake, there will be an explanation for the bite thing and Dark-bitch, it'll be H/Hr but also H/OC. Both at the same time for a special reason. No, Harry won't have super powers but he'll be trained differently...just keep in mind that vampires are WAY much stronger than humans...but against each other? We'll see...not gonna tell...before long, that is...

I hope I didn't turn Priscilla into a Mary Sue - she does have a history and her rather changing behavior has its reasons - but that's not for now.

This chapter was meant to introduce Harry to the Dane family - it will be the basis for chap. four where you'll see him get on with his new life - plus a BIG event as a bonus. Hopefully, chap. five will see some more plot developments. Who knows? I'm rather satisfied with the way it goes. Different from HP-ASIT and NGE TBI. Oh, smash it, I'm starting to sound (or 'look' since I'm typing) like Priscilla now with her 'ya' and 'tha''. Can't prevent myself from writing that instead of 'you' and 'the' now. Should get more coke to wake up. GO GO CAFFEINE! RILE ME UP:-)

**Until next time,**

**ABI2301**

**EDIT:  
**To comply with FFN's uploading guidelines regarding the insertion of lyrics not written by the author, Hoobastank's _Crawling In The Dark_'s lyrics were deleted. The reader can always find them back through a simple search through Yahoo!Search by inputting 'Hoobastank' + 'Crawling in the Dark' + 'lyrics'. Many apologies for the inconvenience but the rules must be enforced in accordance to the saying that'when in Rome, do as the Romans do'.


	4. Chapter 04: A Life Regained For Someone ...

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 04**

**v.01: 04/09/2005**

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**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

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**Chapter 04: A Life Regained For Someone Who's Dead Inside**

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Life had, over the next week, regained a semblance of normalcy for Harry Potter.

During daytime he worked as a bookshop employee, moving boxes around in the backyard and placing new novels or documentaries in the empty aisles. These workout sessions served indirectly to help him build up some body strength, which Priscilla deemed necessary to become a full-fledged vampire. As she was an individual fully in control in comparison to her new pupil, Harry didn't dare question her directives, feeling in fact quite grateful for the distraction. Since long gone from his mind were the Order and Hogwarts, Ron, Hermione and Voldemort. He had now a new life and enjoyed things as they were. In less than a few days he had caught quite an interest in literature as his mentor required from him basic knowledge as to what those books were talking about so that he could help the clients wandering in the establishment and find what they were looking for. Reading some books' covers had rendered him quite curious about what they were truly about and he was soon found leafing through some magazines or heavy encyclopedias, much to Lizzie's and Priscilla's delight. At supper- and dinnertime the trio could be seen discussing about recent writing trends in literature actuality.

Speaking of which...

Cohabitation with Lizzie and Priscilla eventually didn't prove to be a problem as the trio found a _modus vivendi_ by which they abode seamlessly. After all, it wasn't as if any of the three had something against each other. Priscilla was someone very forthcoming and tolerant; when Harry needed some time along to put himself together she would grant him his much-awaited peace and quiet. Cheerful in nature but sporadically withdrawn, her mood could sometimes change like the seasons of the year. The reason of such a swinging behavior was still unknown to Harry but the recovering vampire paid no heed as he felt rather secure when in her company. His teacher eventually grew up to be like an older sister and to an extent, a confidante of sorts. Harry guessed that she had some secrets of her own but didn't want to intrude in her private business. After all, everyone held skeletons in his closet. And Priscilla couldn't logically be ready to spill her past to someone who was a stranger until very recently. He noticed that she sometimes froze in place at odd times, as if fading into thought, only to shake her head with a sad expression and resume her activities as if nothing had occurred in the meantime.

On the other hand, her younger sister, Lizzie, was very different as she was the true antithesis of the word 'quiet': always running hither and yon to play around or find something to occupy herself with, she brought to Harry's life the little spice it lacked. Of course, with the Dursleys, living with Dudley wasn't agreeable in the slightest - quite the opposite with Lizzie, who, at least didn't try to make Harry's existence any harder than it was. During daytime Harry and Priscilla were working fulltime at the library while Lizzie was attending school. When all of them came back from their respective locations for dinner they were often too tired to interact with each other - although Harry oft found the time to speak with his mentor's younger sister, slowly growing found of his companion. He felt it a bit awkward to play with her dolls in order to entertain his second roommate but still indulged her with such games. It was the least he could do to thank her for accepting him in her household.

Four times a week Harry and the older vampire would get out at night to search for fresh blood and sate their hungry stomachs. They could, as creatures of the night, spend quite a few days without biting anyone but feeding off each other so as to not harm anyone wasn't just enough to make their bottomless thirst abate.

During those long hours wandering off long, dark and deserted streets and waiting for an unsuspecting prey to come by, Harry would get to learn how to use his vampire skills as best as he could.

"Ya see, Harry, we're creatures o' tha' night. Most livin' beings develop either pelts or bodies that blend in with their environment. Look at tha' chameleon an' tha' Indian Stick Insect. 'Tis called _camouflage_. If ya want ta' look like a human bein' an' get 'way unnoticed durin' daytime, ya hafta wear beige or gray clothes. Neither flashy, nor extreme colors like pitch black. They don't draw attention ta yerself. Noncommittal. During nighttime, switch ta dark immediately unless ya want someone ta mistake ya for a Christmas Tree - 'balls' included," she added, grinning at Harry's colorful unease. "Mortals just use clothes ta become invisible. We, Nightstalkers, nonetheless, have better than that," she continued with a smirk, looking at a dubious-looking Harry. She scrunched her eyes in concentration for a moment and, suddenly, the outlines out of her body became more and more blurry, losing their shape before becoming a huge, swirling shadow that lazily hung in midair in front of a bewildered Harry. The mass of darkness swished around, floating gracelessly like a wisp of smoke and sticking itself over a nearby brick wall, behaving like a coating of sorts. From an onlooker's point of view, the 'artificial' shadow would just be an extension of the 'natural' one, cast by the nearby buildings. Harry stood gaping at the display before the black 'fog' finally coalesced into a grinning Priscilla.

"Blimey, how did you do that?" he asked, eager to learn that new trick. "Hold yar horses, Harry!" she admonished, feeling it her duty to quell his enthusiasm. Vampires were hunters, not party poopers. "Took me ages ta' manage a technique like that. Since ya're younger than I was when I was turned in, it'll be harder for ya but ya'll be more used ta that technique in tha' end," she corrected, seeing his eyes lose their merriness as she pointed out a few things.

"It'd be also something fantastic if one were to spy on somebody else through the Shadowcloak without being found out, heh?" Harry asked, still beaming at the prospect of using the Shadowblending Technique to wander around without having anyone recognize him. Endless possibilities started jogging a marathon in his head, all more ludicrous or useful than the other.

"If ya dare play peepin' tom on meh, I'll drain ya of yar blood!" Priscilla growled, slapping him on the back of his head - though Harry could sense her concealed playfulness.

"Drat! Found out!" Harry playfully yelped, before bolting out laughing over his shoulder at his teacher.

In response, Priscilla chased after him through Little Disraeli Avenue that night.

Nevertheless, so were some of the tricks Harry learnt at night.

And Priscilla's easygoing attitude was an input highly appreciated by the runaway teenager who still remained depressed because of his predicament and the recent loss of his godfather. There was still a tinge of pain in his heart, reminding him of how low he had sunk and how hopeless he had become. Those thoughts often brought the young wizard to lose his earlier bright mood and brood for hours, huddled on his bed or staring out of the window. Priscilla would then notice his absence and come in to cheer her pupil up. Harry found himself obliged to response favorably to her cooing, as a silent thanks to her intense support. She was so benevolent towards him that he couldn't bring himself to destroy the whole atmosphere she had strived to establish in her household. Harry himself couldn't have asked for more as it sheltered him from his former nightmares. He did in fact probe the confines of his mind to find an excuse to return back to his friends but found none that could satisfy his desperate will to run away and forget all he had had to suffer. Each night he would snatch a sheet of paper and jot down his reasons to stay back or go away. Each time he would reach a moot point that couldn't tip the balance of his will in either direction. That, of course, didn't please him but he felt that abandoning Priscilla so suddenly and giving up her offer to train him would be a disaster he would regret till the end of times.

That last argument was always the same one that concluded his daily dilemmas.

So he remained in the Dane-Potter household for his and his roommates' sakes.

And...in two weeks' span, Harry's former life had nearly completely disappeared, swept under the rug of fading memories. The Prophecy, Voldemort, everything...he was so intent on shutting himself off the wizarding world that he didn't even deign (or more exactly forced himself to) think back about his erstwhile comrades, feeling more like mastering his vampiric abilities. He finally came to enjoy those hunting nights with Priscilla, as they asked individuals about how late it was or about some miscellaneous piece of information...before happily snapping their teeth at their prey's jugular.

"Tha' trick is not ta sink yar canines upta yar gums, otherwise ya'll turn yar victims inta vampires. If ya keep yar teeth half-plunged an' easy ta withdraw yar prey won't be infected," explained Priscilla as she dropped a middle-aged man on a park's bench, watching his slumbering form collapsing into a quite comical position, eliciting a chuckle from both creatures of the night. "Our teeth - or at least their upper section, near tha' gums, are covered with a special spit that numbs tha' guy or chick ya're bitin'. Sort of an anesthesia serum - knocks them out while actin' as an anticoagulation agent. Helps keep tha' wound open, ya see. Our gums, however, are dampened with a chemical substance that holds tha' vampirism virus. And...err...well, logically every guy ya'd bite regardless of how deep ya do it would become a vamp but that's not tha' case. It _really _depends on how deep ya bite them. Don' ask meh why, I ain't got tha' answer. People say there's magic involved but nobody's ever proved it ta this day."

Harry wiped his mouth with his stained hanky and nodded. "Pity this one had to drink so much beer," Harry grumbled, retching somewhat. "I can't get that Heineken flavor out of my mouth now," he slurred, trying to spit on the grass and get rid of the taste. "Erkh...gross..."

Priscilla only laughed in response at his predicament.

If they weren't looking for innocent people to half-drain of their blood, they were sometimes lounging inside pubs and bustling discotheques, spending the night talking about trivial matters, selecting the ideal prey in the dancing throngs and chatting in between about their lives. If not, their discussions were aimed at how to use your body in close combat or how to walk unseen either by daytime or nighttime. Vampires were masters of discretion. Priscilla had once told him, _don't fear tha' night but what _hunts_ in tha' night. Vampires don't stay out in tha' open. They hide themselves very efficiently an' when they don't, they just traipse along with tha' nearby crowds, waitin' for tha' moment ta bite left an' right an' there ya go. Stomach's full._ Harry earnestly took the lesson to heart, vowing fervently to better himself and live up to his teacher's expectations. This was, he deemed, much better than Hogwarts, which didn't offer any courses that taught people all while entertaining them.

It wasn't long before that he became unrecognizable as he adopted a whole new behavior that he estimated ideal to throw eventual search parties from the Order off his tracks. He was already different from what he formerly looked like and was grateful for his previously unwelcome physical mutation. His physiognomy and physiology were no longer that of his former self. The omniscience he experienced through his heightened senses, his ability to be in control his state imparted him were something he had unknowingly longed for during his entire stay at Hogwarts. His former restlessness sometimes reminded him of that song he had heard Priscilla singing, _Crawling in the Dark_. Now he wasn't doing that anymore. He was holding the reins of his life in his own hands. He was for once happy. Delighted all the way up to Heaven's seventh floor by his new environment.

The two Dane sisters had also a hand in livening his early grumpy mood up - not only fishing him out of the pond of despair he was swimming in. They even went as far as to tease him when he was brooding or too lost in his thoughts over something obviously quite unpleasant. Harry, for instance, blushed a quite deep brick red when Priscilla started singing '_Like a virgin, touch for the very first time...'_ in Madonna style after getting out of the shower, much to Lizzie's unbridled mirth. The embarrassed teenager never got out of his bedroom that evening as he couldn't dare face the two mischievous sisters. Other than that, all their harmless taunts and acts were meant for the best. Their purpose: to raise Harry from his lonely pit of despair and change him completely, from top to bottom.

Even his choice of clothing became affected by the lively vampire teacher and the young girl.

But it didn't come...harmlessly...so to speak.

"Are you sure Pink Floyd is not too out of date?" he asked, eyeing suspiciously the long, bright blue, sleeveless t-shirt she was presenting him. They were at that moment in a cheap store in London, looking for new clothes as Harry desperately needed a new wardrobe. Priscilla had been appalled by the items the Dursleys had given Harry and had been adamant on leading an emergency shopping spree, dragging a reluctant teenager behind her - all that in front of a giggling Lizzie and bemused by-passers.

"Got somethin' 'gainst them?" she asked, grinning playfully. The tellers kept looking at them with knowing smiles, indeed familiar with the unease male people had when partaking in women-led shopping sessions. Obviously Harry was going to discover how hard it was to take a woman's mind off choosing items on sale.

"No. Just asking..." he answered, not feeling like being teased any further. Priscilla immediately dove back into the sea of clothes and reemerged with a new set of t-shirts and polo shirts. "Unless ya want tha' green Spice Girls blouse, o' course!" she quipped, cheerfully handing him the said item.

"Err...I think I'll pass, thank you," he nervously answered, an icy sweat-drop forming on his temple. He'd be damned if someone ever caught him in such attire. _Damn - that must be God's curse to men for having women near them - shopping and chatting! No wonder girls live longer than boys..._

"I think I got the right jeans for you, Harry, it's soooo cute!" ecstatically squealed Lizzie from the back of the shop. A relieved Harry whipped towards the young girl, trying to escape from Priscilla's relentless teasing. _Lizzie's not like that, thank God. She's really a lifesaver when she wants to be one!_ he thought, gratitude swelling from his un-stiffening figure. His hopeful smile, however, dropped at an astronomic speed when he saw the tight-fitting, _pink_ pair of slacks being clutched by Lizzie's hands. "And look! There's Bambi on the backside!" she chirped excitedly.

Priscilla was at that moment positively rolling on the floor, choking on her own laughter while Harry was desperately trying to find a hole in which he could hide for the rest of his life.

"I'm going to faint..." he mumbled, sensing the urge to ingurgitate a LOT of beer and forget the whole afternoon by contracting a massive hangover.

"Oh. Do you want the yellow Tom and Jerry with blue flowers instead, then?"

True, true...living with two women was no easy task.

Very agreeable in the long term, albeit quite tiring.

But so very worth the trouble.

During daytime, Priscilla's and Harry's job in the _Booklets And Papers_ took most of their attention, though the older vampire, when the customers' flow started to dwindle at midday or in 'transition' hours, indulged Harry with a few of her anecdotes about the vampire nation and some hunting stories, all more vivid than the other. All her recollections were an invaluable source of experience for him, he who was still struggling with the concept of grabbing one's neck by the jaws and siphoning the blood out - it sometimes made things easier if not less disagreeable. For him, those non-_ex cathedra_ teaching sessions were like going at Hogwarts but with fun as a plus - no Blast-Ended Skrewts or Pogrebins to worry about in Care of Magical Creatures classes, no Malfoy to look out for, no Snape to breath down his shoulder with slander hanging off his lips in Potions...utter paradise.

Deep within himself, he felt like a new Christopher Columbus discovering a yet unseen _terra incognita _and tasting its marvels.

And what Priscilla had told him a week earlier was slowly becoming a truth.

...In the long run...being a vampire wasn't all that bad, once you learnt how to cope with it.

"I sometimes prefer roamin' 'round dark alleys - I usually end up with better preys, surprisingly. Otherwise they're pissed, have bad ideas in mind or are too excited for me ta have a bite without havin' them go off tha' handle. Usually when they begin ta squirm ya can easily lose yar teeth's hold on them an' ya could risk rippin' their jugular out so ya should watch out."

"Oh - figures," he deadpanned, absently dropping a pile of _National Geographic _magazines on a display shelf, before extracting the old edition and carrying them back to the back room for disposal.

"So I bite them an' knock them out...I use tha' Shadowcloak ta swoop down on them an' wrap myself 'round them, ya know, like a suit. Then I bite them on tha' neck from behind," she explained, looking at the clock overhead to keep tracks with time. People would soon come back from lunch and take a stroll around, meaning that customers would be coming back soon.

"Okay," acquiesced Harry, rummaging through a box full of the latest edition of _Vanity Fair_. "You try to paralyze them first, don't you?"

"Yeah, but ya must take care not ta choke them or squeeze tha' hell outta their lungs or ya'll end up with a corpse in yar arms. But that's not yar only concern - for example, I once had a chick who had makeup all over her face like she was a building having its front covered in plaster - ya wouldn't believe tha' picture. She looked more like a beaten woman with black eyes than a true, feminine girl, with all the mascara she painted on herself an' she had put so much layers of skincare cream that I gagged tha' second I bit her. I finally let her on tha' road, passed out, an' rushed back home ta have a puke in tha' restroom. Never did eat or drink that night after tha' encounter," she muttered, shaking her head and involuntarily shivering at the memory.

Harry's cringe conveyed his agreement in the matter.

Apart from such interludes, Harry could actually be seen walking around the _Booklets and Papers _bookshop wearing ACDC or Metallica t-shirts - often black in color - and enjoying a blaring tune from Marilyn Manson or Limp Bizkit, relishing the release it provided him with. All his bottled emotions were finally unleashed through the raging music he listened to all day long and the adrenaline rushes the roaring voices and screaming guitars those songs elicited from his recovering soul. Of course, Priscilla's influence could be glimpsed underneath his evolution as the young wizard slowly but surely adopted his mentor's tastes and way of life. In less than two weeks, Harry was already showing premature signs of Goth fashion. Like wearing a cross over a hard rock shirt and a black band over his arm to hold up pencils as he skimmed through boxes of new books to jot down numbers and tags, for example... That change was a welcome addition to Harry who had become fed up of Uncle Vernon's collection of _Rule Britannia_ CDs by the Westminster Abbey's Official Choir (which the corpulent Grunnings employee used to hum or 'sing' ('howl', more exactly) around when he was in a good mood)...in other words, it was another way to liberate himself from his former demons.

All that lasted until one fateful day.

---

"Harry! Would ya please get tha' beef slices outta tha' freezer?" came the muffled voice of Priscilla. Harry got out of his room while putting on a navy blue sweater picturing the Korn band and headed for the kitchen, softly whistling to himself a tune from Radiohead. He winked at Lizzie who was at the table working on her homework and stopped by to mess her hair up. She swatted his hand out with a small smile and a mock-indignant "Harry!" before he went towards the freezer, retrieving the food from its place and setting the package on the radiator to unfreeze the piece of meat. That task done, he bent down towards the fridge and fished inside to...

"What? No more coke or soda? Bummer!" he grumbled, feeling discontent at the idea of spending the week without some fresh drink at home. "I drank the remaining can yesterday," Lizzie piped up, earning a small glare from Harry. "Sorry."

"'S okay, I'm going to get some tomorrow, no need to make a fuss out of it," replied Harry in a dismissive tone. "It's not like I'm going to die of thirst tonight. I can do without it but I just find it nice to come back home and have a soft drink with ice cubes ready for you as an unofficial payment for your work," he said, smiling at the young, blonde girl who beamed in response. "No problems with your work?" he asked, feeling entitled to help her in her education as repayment for the Dane Family's hospitality and benevolence. "No," answered Lizzie with a frown. "But I have trouble dividing those numbers, here...they're too high!" she complained. Harry had an indulgent smile and leant forward, taking her pencil and writing down on a spare sheet of paper some numbers. He then started to explain her some tricks he came up with in his mathematics class in Muggle school, unaware of Priscilla's fond gaze coming from the doorway. The slightly older vampire smiled in an affectionate way - the two were really getting along and he was having a good influence on her younger sister.

_They were like siblings._

_Family._

"I got it!" Lizzie squealed excitedly, making Harry grin in satisfaction. "So, ya two, everythin' alright?" Priscilla asked from her position. The two other vampires turned around and nodded. "There's just a couple of things missing in the fridge but I'll drop tomorrow by the shops in Baulkhead Road and get them," explained Harry. "We need some milk as well as tomato juice, coke and onions. For starters," he stated, eyeing the half-empty larder.

"Oh, right," said his teacher, slapping a hand over her forehead. "Forgot 'bout that, sorry...'seems like we're gonna have bread an' butter tonight for dinner, guys...but I think there's some soup left in tha' refrigerator," she said, peering inside the small contraption and withdrawing a bowl containing some frozen pea soup. "Yah - will do for this evening. By tha' way, no trainin' t'night, Harry. I'm too knackered ta budge my arse over tha' town. I'm gonna turn in early today - tomorrow, tha' truck with tha' monthly arrivals will be comin' so ya better take a rest too. Lotsa things ta move 'round before midday, so..." she informed the young wizard. Harry nodded, slightly disappointed by the change of plans but reluctantly acknowledging his own tiredness.

Dinner went smoothly and Harry soon bid goodnight to his two roommates, retreating to his safe haven for another long night. Hopefully, this time he wouldn't get any nightmares. Oddly they weren't about Voldemort anymore but visions of a darkened forest withering in fire, its trees tumbling in burning masses towards an incandescent ground. Then came the scream, which usually woke him up from the now-dreaded dream. Try as he might, he couldn't find any meaning that made any sense behind his visions. It indeed filled his mind with a deep feeling of foreboding but it left no clue as to what it pointed. Harry discarded his clothes, slipped inside his pajamas and dropped under his sheets, sighing heavily before reaching for his folded trousers.

"Wonder how much I have left," he muttered, looking for his battered wallet - another hand-me-down from Uncle Vernon that he had saved at the last minute from the garbage can. His relatives had scoffed at his request, overtly mocking his lack of money but he had in turn surprised them by showing some bank notes exchanged for some Galleons at the Gringotts bank. The Dursleys had shut up afterwards but Harry hadn't wanted to show off because they could easily ask him to pay for his care during those last sixteen years and THAT was an insult he didn't want to take. His adoptive family was very well capable of such an ignominy but he didn't want to test his luck. Shoving back those dark memories in the recesses of his mind, he fished through the pockets, his frown increasing as he saw that most slots in the wallet were now empty.

"Bugger!" he grumbled. "Broke." He flopped backwards on the mattress, his head hitting the soft pillow. "I'll have to return to Diagon Alley to change some money soon and I'll -" He stopped abruptly as he reminded himself of the wizarding world. "Shit."

The wizarding world.

The community that had taken his parents and friends away from him, as well as caused his whole life to stream down the gutter. He remembered the time he met Rubeus Hagrid, his first true friend...or when he had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, only to be submerged by overenthusiastic people who told him they were deeply honored to meet the savior of their kind. It was at that fateful moment that everything had started crumbling down. That he had gained a nemesis and started a set of never-ending adventures that had nearly cost his life... Although he was grateful for the positive changes, his arrival in the wizarding world - such as his meeting Ron and Hermione and finally discovering his parents' past - he knew he couldn't go back through Time and set things right. Despite the Ministry's official statement about Voldemort's new arising, he couldn't afford himself to be once again slandered and held as an attention-seeking lunatic whose mind bordered on insanity. Him being a vampire would aggravate matters greatly.

Hermione and Ron were his friends but how would they react at the news? They would be horrified at first, but after?

Harry didn't want to know. Rejection would be the last blow to his towering mountain of inner injuries.

Not to mention that he wouldn't be able to look in his friends' eyes the moment they would learn of his predicament.

Suffice it to say, he went through a rather troubled night and found a very little amount of sleep.

And his new nightmares bore mute testimony to his growing disquiet.

---

"Where ya goin', did ya say?" Priscilla asked, raising a displeased eyebrow. Harry sighed and replied at her stiffening figure, "Diagon Alley - yeah, it's the wizarding world. I'm just going to the bank and withdraw some money from there. I will have, from time to time, to drop some of my earnings in the vault, too, but I need some bank notes and coins in my wallet to make eventual purchases, you know?"

Priscilla frowned at his decision - her growing scowl undoubtedly the consequence of her dislike towards the wizarding world. She knew Harry was a wizard but she wasn't comfortable with the idea of seeing him returning to that community that shamelessly eschewed people they judged different or even remotely dangerous and sentenced to absolute ostracism without a second glance. Vampires, berserkers (people who could turn into bears at night), goblins, house-elves and werewolves were shunned away by that rotten society and could only find some dignity among themselves, in tight, secluded communities. Not in an environment where holier-than-thou strangers named themselves superior to everyone else and took steps to ensure they did hold a dominion over those 'lesser breeds'. Umbridge was a good example of those corrupted individuals who tolerated no other species than her own. Mankind.

Truth be told, she was none too happy with the prospect.

"But don't worry," Harry assured her, pulling out his wand and twirling it in front of him. "I'll put a Glamour charm on myself." To emphasize his point he waved the said item in front of his face, changing his hair from raven black to blond and his eye color from deep green to blue. With another flick of his hand, he put an illusion on his own scar, hiding it from view. Suffice it to say, Priscilla and Lizzie seemed quite impressed by the display of magic - obviously not used to such sights. Harry could even hear his teacher mumbling about unfairness when it came to performing camouflage magic. Harry remembered that she had been a Muggle before she had been turned and only held her knowledge of the wizarding world from discussions with fellow vampires. Once again, Harry failed to notice that no Ministry owls came through the window with an official letter on its leg - his new life, which was now completely of any magic or anything pertaining to the wizarding world, had completely blotted his attention off the rules for Hogwarts students. In fact, he was too preoccupied by NOT being identified by wizards or witches that he overlooked the risks of having his spells being tracked by higher-ups.

Reluctantly, Priscilla agreed to let him go, giving him a small tip to pay his fare for the journey towards Diagon Alley. "Right, but if ya come back in morsels don' bother askin' me ta fix ya body 'cause I won't," she deadpanned, a clear warning in her voice. "An' I don't care one whit whether ya're dead or not - ya WILL come back, be it on one foot or yar naked kidneys, understood?"

"Understood."

The taxi Harry had hailed brought him to King's Cross' surroundings, since he didn't have enough money to go further, and he covered the remaining distance by foot, taking his time to enjoy the oblivious throngs that walked along the streets and calm himself up. As a vampire trainee he had to practice self-control on a daily basis for many reasons. He was a predator, a hunter, and those people had to be patient when looking for a prey otherwise they would spend the evening with an empty stomach. Harry discovered that the lessons Priscilla gave him shared likenesses with Occlumency, the science that enabled one to shield his mind from outside mental attacks. He supposed that by now he should be strong enough to repel even Snape's attempts to break in his thoughts but he still didn't dare to find out. That life was beyond him now.

Buried.

D. E. A. D.

He quickly arrived in front of the Leaky Cauldron inn and got inside, giving Tom, the bartender, a noncommittal nod that was kindly returned. For once in his lifetime, nobody turned around to look at him because of his new appearance. Harry noted with satisfaction that the Glamour charm he had cast on himself worked to perfection. Only a few individuals, waiting for something to jar them out of their boredom, spared him a simple glance before returning to their drunken stupor. He went immediately to the back of the building and found himself facing the end of an alley: a nude wall of bricks. Determinedly, Harry tapped the wall in certain points with his wand and witnessed the mass of stone moving apart, giving him access to the nexus point of wizarding market: Diagon Alley. As he walked through the bustling street he noticing that all bystanders wore serious looks and were sometimes fidgeting around, like people not knowing what to do or where to go. Lost.

Shooting glances around, Harry blinked repeatedly as he took in the Alley's state. Eeylops Owl Emporium was deserted, the cauldron shop looked like it hadn't seen any customers in ages and Flourish and Blotts lacked its usual animation. Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions was surprising closed - a fact that greatly surprised Harry - and Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor housed no clients but a rather gloomy Mr. Fortescue, no doubt disgruntled at the eerie disappearance of life. Bringing himself closer to the majestic Gringotts Bank, Harry glanced around in worry at the sudden changes in the Alley and finally saw an edition from the _Daily Prophet _lying near a sidewalk's gutter. Leaning forward to get a better look, he beheld the bold headlines: _Death Eater Attack in Southampton: Twenty Victims and Rising._ Harry realized that every since Voldemort came back to life and made his presence known the mood of the wizarding world must have sunk greatly and people had started developing signs of paranoia, remembering the horrors of the previous war.

Mystifyingly he had never heard of such tragedies through the Muggle radio or television. Either at the Dursleys or at the Danes.

Shaking his head in perplexed worry, he made his way towards Gringotts and was on the point to enter the prestigious bank when his heart stopped, spotting two of his Hogwarts professors, Filius Flitwick and Minerva McGonagall, leaving the establishment with grim looks. He passed them by, trying to keep his composure intact when he hear the two individuals speak in hushed but concerned tones, "Terrible, my dear," Flitwick squeaked. "The po - police - I mean, what the Muggles call their Auror Department - found at least one liter of blood on the pavement - how grisly! And even by using Mr. Potter's blood we haven't been able to retrace him through the Locatus Potion. Even the documents at the ministry have become blank!"

"It is indeed horrible," sadly concurred McGonagall with a strangled voice - quite a shock for Harry who always remembered her as a stern woman. "I can't believe that James and Lily's child is dead - normally the ministry's papers should still show his vital statistics but they are completely blank! And now that the wizarding world has heard of it - I can't fathom the hopelessness we are in, Filius. Even Albus is completely clueless as to what happened."

"Indeed, my dear, indeed, indeed, indeed," agreed the diminutive wizard, focusing all his attention on descending the steps without falling.

The pair went down the stairs, leaving a speechless Harry behind and staring in front of him with wide eyes. _They think I'm dead_, he realized with a slight tone of remorse. _No wonder why they look so...so devoid of life..._ He shook his head and pushed the golden doors, entering in the bank's main hall. He located a vacant counter and strode up to the Goblin behind it. In less than two minutes, he had discretely withdrawn from his account three hundred pounds' worth of Galleons and asked for the transaction to remain secret (though to do so he had to follow the Goblin in a closed room to take off the Glamour charm and confirm that he _indeed _was Harry Potter and not a key-thief). That done, he vacated the building, hoping to return to the Dane household...his home. As he sped down the stairs with a worried frown on his face, he was ripped from his thoughts by a loud _bang_ that echoed through the Alley, startling all present onlookers. Loud screams soon arose from the crowd.

Harry spun on his heels and blanched at what he saw - a vision of nightmare that he thought he would never see again: thirty Death Eaters rushing down the street, casting spells left and right, obviously intent on wreaking as much havoc as they could muster. Killing and Blasting Curses flew by, setting the air alive with deadly magic. Panes of glass broke into myriads of flying shrapnel and smoke appeared nearly everywhere as fires were started in devastated shops. The worst was the shrill, dark laugh of the Dark Lord's minions - a sound that sent the young vampire's blood boiling.

In a daze, Harry saw a dozen Aurors Apparating but he didn't pay them any heed. He withdrew his wand from his robes and started sending curses to the nearest Death Eaters, dropping two of them in less than three seconds. As he rolled aside to avoid a Throat-Constricting Spell, he saw from the corner of his eye some Order members sprinting towards the scene and throwing hexes here and there. Chaos reached its apex as spells rebounded on magically-conjured shields, forcing both camps to lose their formations and spread wide, losing their previous coordination.

Knowing that Stunning people wouldn't prevent them from being revived by fellow Death Eaters, Harry switched to Blasting Curses, even taking his time to Transfigure some of his opponents into inanimate objects before setting them afire with a flick of his wand. The battle raged on as more and more people dropped in, setting the turmoil to its highest level yet. Explosions rocked the street as Aurors joined efforts to send a volley in the Death Eaters' direction, only to succeed in adding more destruction to the increasing devastation.

And Harry sensed them. He felt the fighters' hearts beating like mad, as well as the stench of their sweat and the cacophony of their angry shouts and incantations. He could feel where his opponents and tactical allies were standing even if they were behind his back... It was pure omniscience and with it came omnipotence. People said that knowledge was power and imparted with such awareness Harry couldn't but feel a wave of power flow through him. He shot several curses in rapid succession at where he _knew_ a couple Death Eaters would be and was rewarded by some loud screams of pain. Running through the battlefield at an inhuman speed by using his increased vampiric abilities, Harry jumped into the mass of frenzy, even knocking out a dark-robed man with a vicious swing of his fist, successfully breaking his jaw and sending him into unconsciousness. He whipped around clockwise and began hexing everything he deemed dangerous, dropping individuals one by one while skipping around to escape incoming Avada Kedavras.

The world around him faded as the scent of blood reached his nose. Time had no longer something to do within his mind; all seemed to come to a crawl; every individual's actions were decreasing in speed - insomuch that Harry could easily predict what they would do next and take measures to prevent eventual damage to his own being. He jumped on the nearest Death Eater he saw and slashed at his throat with his elongating nails. Blood spurted away in showers, the display sending chills of elation to run down Harry's spine as the sweet, entrancing smell collided with his nostrils. He was in his element.

And then the coldness came...

Crawling...withering...

The voices he didn't want to remember, rising from the recesses of his memory...his mother begging someone to spare her son...a flash of light...a rushing sound and some cries in the background. He felt his darkest memories resurfacing like a tormenting gale and his strength slipping out of his control as his mind lost all its will to live. Harry spun around, already knowing what was coming. As he turned his head towards the source of his numbness - which was already affecting the Aurors as he saw them staggering and other individuals already falling to their knees - he saw one of his life's banes: high-hooded, black-robed, scaly-skinned Dementors, filling the air with their rattling breath and rotting smell.

The stank of decay made his being burn with hate as it reminded him so much of the death he had strived to push away.

Harry felt his happiness flowing out of his brains despite his Occlumency training and sensed his anger skyrocketing at the sight of those scourges of the afterlife. He pointed his wand towards the shadowy silhouettes and thought clearly about Priscilla holding Lizzie in her arms, as they went shopping with him in London. "EXPECTO PATRONUM," he bellowed, just before the tip of his wand was lit aglow and an enormous, silvery stag burst from the stick of holly, charging towards the Dark Lord's newest allies.

The animal buried his antlers in the bodies made of shadow and pain and started tearing them apart, ripping through the Dementors' ranks like a dart. The creatures cartwheeled in midair as they saw the new entity mauling their peers and began scattering. Prongs, the Patronus, spun around and started chasing the remaining guardians of Azkaban away, shredding their limbs apart with so much force and violence that certain onlookers cringed as they imagined the effects of such an assault.

It soon became certain to the henchmen of the Dark Lord that that battle was lost to them and by staying longer they would be reducing their numbers. In a way, they preferred to incur their master's wrath than face death or worse at the hands of the Ministry. One of the cloaked individuals shot a set of green sparks in the air, signaling an immediate retreat to his brothers-in-arms.

As the cracking sound of Death Eaters Apparating out reached his ears, Harry stood to his full height, striding towards his Patronus to greet the reincarnation of his father. "Prongs..." he murmured, looking at the deep eyes of the stag that bent down for Harry to pat his muzzle. Harry raised a tentative hand and just as his fingers entered in contact with the animal's skin, the brightly white stag suddenly transformed into a wide-winged, pitch black, lizard-like thestral.

The metamorphosis nearly sent Harry reeling back in shock but the apparition suddenly disappeared noiselessly, leaving him there to wonder what the hell had just happened. Breathing deeply, he glanced at the corpse-cluttered ground and looked at the damage the Alley had incurred, sighing about Mankind's love for self-destruction. He walked away, towards the Aurors who were looking at him half with gratitude, half with amazement. And a tad of weariness towards that foreign individual who had so brazenly hacked his way through the Dark Lord's ranks with yet unmatched efficiency. Harry closed his eyes for a minute, trying to drop his adrenaline amount before opening them, gazing directly at the Ministry employees. And...

His heart once again missed a beat. Standing, mouth agape, among the Aurors were Professors Flitwick and McGonagall, staring at him as if they had seen Jesus descending on Earth for Mankind's final Ascension to Heaven. Harry's insides went deathly cold as he took in his situation, gulping nervously his suddenly pasty saliva down his dried throat. He should have known his Patronus could have been recognized by Order members like Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks but he hadn't thought of such risks. And he now was here, frozen in place, staring, wide-eyed, at his former teachers, inwardly screaming bloody murder for his carelessness. A small, strangled whimper made him look sideways. _What now - where - who? Ramses II asking for a kiss? Julius Caesar in a tutu? Fudge screaming 'I'm the Pumpkin Queen'?_

What he eventually saw nearly made him faint.

For, ten meters away from him, huddled in a corner, pale-faced and clutching her wand, knelt Hermione Granger.

Harry's Transfigured face lost its blood when his eyes fell on his erstwhile friend that he had abandoned during summer for a new world.

"Harry?" she asked, disbelief and hope piercing through her tone.

The young wizard didn't wait to give an answer. Instead he did the first thing that passed through his mind.

He ran away, followed by the cries of a few Order members.

* * *

**_To be continued..._**

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**A/N:**

Author looks on with wide eyes and gulps

Did I just write that? scratches head Yeah, I did. Wow, I outdid myself. Wonder how. So OOC of me...

Was Goth!Harry too much? I know I'm sticking too much to that stereotype of vampires wearing leather coats and Ray-Bans but I couldn't resist. They are people of the night. Dark colors should be natural or logical for them to wear. As for the rock bands thing, I thought it would be quite a good excuse to justify their fashion. Why did I choose a Harry-loves-hard-rock feature? Uhm, well, I'm speaking from experience. I'm no hard-rocker or a bloke who listens to heavy metal 24/7 (like that'd happen anyway:-) ) but I found certain songs quite...cathartic, really. I felt like releasing some pent-up energy or frustration bottling up inside me. Now, of course, I do listen to classical music and slows, believe me. And no, I don't even have Limp Bizkit, Linkin Park or Marilyn Manson CDs in my house. Just making things up for the fic.

And, well, for Harry, changing that much is a way for him to exorcize his inner demons, to relinquish everything that had been plaguing him. Yeah, he's running away from his past, but it's not like he's not enjoying it. Far from it. :-) Was the living-with-Priscilla thing rushed? Let me know. I just didn't want to spend too much time over that like I did in HP-ASIT or in NGE TBI so I cut everything short with some previews of what happened in the meantime. Ah, yes, before I forgot, Quizer: your comment was sound and it will be answered in a half-dozen chaps. The answer is simple - to the point that it sounds lame, and like a pathetic, unsubtle excuse.

Drill, drill, drill: _read and review_. Next chap.: when Sadism mates with Necessity...

**Until better times,**

**ABI2301**


	5. Chapter 05: Asmodeus

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 05**

**v.01: 04/09/2005**

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**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

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**Chapter 05: ****Asmodeus**

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Panting slightly, Harry stopped in a secluded alley two kilometers away from King's Cross. How he had managed to get there unscathed and uncaught was beyond his knowledge as his last memories of running down crowded streets to evade the Order were quite fuzzy. As he had left in a dead run Diagon Alley he had felt a Stunner or two being cast at him without much luck and heard people cry his name but he had not dared to look over his shoulder by fear of losing his speed and eventually be captured by his former friends.

For he was done for with that life.

And to hell with that accursed Prophecy!

He was free. He was happy. He was _in control_. What more could he have asked for? His life as Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, would have never granted him such priceless treasures. His being Harry Potter, young vampire and pupil of Priscilla Carisse Dane, held much more promises that could really be fulfilled, unlike the tasteless engagements wizards took only to see Fate destroy them all before they became reality. Why should he stay in a place where there was nothing good for him to live for? He should have moved away much sooner than that, Harry realized with bitterness. _At least I would have TRULY lived and not experienced a LIE or a darned COMPROMISE._ Doomed to die at the hands of a Dark Lord...how could he cope with the knowledge that he had gone through sixteen years of constant suffering and unhappiness just to meet his fate at the hands of someone so powerful nobody could effectively challenge that monster without being buried in a pitiful grave afterwards? Then came the secrets - those that Dumbledore and the Order had kept from him. _Priscilla had never known me before therefore she couldn't keep things away from me_, thought Harry. _Unlike Dumbledore. Even for my own good and peace of mind._

All that pointed to the overpowering opinion that he had made the good choice. And the point was that now...

He was FREE.

Liberated.

Rejuvenated.

He no longer was a wizard, which meant that, in his opinion, the Prophecy's content and implications were consequently voided. Very convenient, eh?

But so untrue and self-deluding.

Harry straightened up and returned carefully to the animated streets of London, directly looking for a cab. He gestured for one to take him and paid his fare towards Little Whinging. Less than an hour later he was stumbling inside the small flat he shared with his two vampire roommates and dropped his lean body onto the nearest couch, savoring the softness the piece of furniture offered to his abused muscles. "Ugh. I need to get laid - no, that's not what I meant - drunk, yeah, that's it. Drunk," he moaned, massaging his temples. _And if someone barges in screaming some weird or plain absurd yell like 'long live the Twiddledum Teddies', I'm going to kill myself. This day was already awful enough to guarantee myself a foot in the grave...and I'm not looking forward to play poker with the Grim Reaper._

"Harry? What in tha' name of St George happened ta ya? Ya look like a cat that spent tha' night in a washin' machine!" came the worried shriek from Priscilla as she emerged from the kitchen, taking in his unkempt figure slumped on the sofa. Harry's head snapped in surprise towards his roommate and he held up a hand, begging for some peace and quiet before speaking up. "I had a run-in with Death Munchers, that's all," he grumbled, bracing himself for the incoming explosion.

"What? That's all? THAT'S ALL?" the pale-faced blonde shouted disbelievingly, holding her head between her hands. "Ya do realize ya could have been killed, don't ya?" she asked, her eyes blazing. _No duh! _Harry shrunk away on the couch, trying to evade her piercing glare. "Yeah - problem is that they were attacking when I was just leaving the bank. Honestly, Cilia, I couldn't have known, you know. It isn't like Death Eaters have a published timetable that all wizards can look up in the newspaper!" he protested, trying to defuse the situation and get away unharmed. Priscilla could be very forgiving but when someone stepped out of line she could easily kill people that even Death Eaters couldn't have harmed in the slightest. From the corner of his eye he could see Lizzie's head peeking out to discover what had triggered the commotion and send her older sister in such a state. On the other hand, Priscilla was now walking in circles, thinking deeply and alternatively scowling at the turn of events. Harry was surprised he couldn't see steam gushing out of her ears as he realized how pissed she was. _Sweet Merlin in heaven, she's pissed BIG TIME! This time I got it hard and sure..._

The older vampire stopped abruptly her wandering in the middle of the living room before looking straight him with the fires of hell burning in her now slitted pupils. _I wonder why her name isn't cited in the Bible next to Satan's. She looks like a demon that way..._ "Ya, mister, are in big trouble," she stated, pointing out the obvious. Harry didn't know whether to acknowledge her sentence or start sweating bullets.

"Tell me something I don't know," he muttered, settling for the nonchalant attitude and hoping to diminish the tension lingering in the atmosphere. Priscilla huffed and continued, nonplussed. "Tonight we're gonna speed up ya training. If ya keep on makin' Fate sic Death Eaters on ya, ya won't live long enough ta see tha' next century, ya have my word on that!" Harry jumped at her declaration, frowning in confusion. "Training? But how? I haven't mastered the Shadowblending Technique yet - not that I've even _begun _learning it - and according to what you told me, when we are in Shadowcloak form we cannot be killed even when hit by the Killing Curse because of our intangible state but we can't attack or retaliate properly. So how...?" he asked, rising from his position.

"I wasn't talkin' 'bout _vampire_ abilities but _physical_ trainin', ya narrow-minded twit!" she snapped, her blonde brows furrowing into a single narrowed line. "Ya ain't a Nightstalker if ya ain't got muscles, I assure ya. I've been neglectin' that part but I've wanted ta start it soon. Seems like I'm gonna hafta speed it up as well as change some plans o' mine..." she grumbled, grabbing a chair and dropping herself on it, leaning back in exasperation. "I knew ya life wasn't easy from what ya told me but it wasn't _really _necessary ta make a demonstration, ya know," she commented offhandedly.

"Sorry," apologized Harry with a meek expression. Priscilla accepted his apologies and nodded towards the stove. "Now, if ya want ta have my forgiveness for ya carelessness, make yerself useful an' prepare dinner. We're leavin' early tonight," she said in a 'no-bullshit' tone. Harry acquiesced and rose numbly from the couch, longing to earn his teacher's forgiveness back. She had been very lenient towards him and he didn't want to repay her like that, although she was doing those efforts for a fellow vampire and respect her community's rules.

A lot of things needed to be mended and he was sure that this day had ruined more things that he could ever know.

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"Now, Cilia, please," Harry sighed, using Lizzie's nickname for her older sister. "Please tell me again why we're standing over a god-forsaken hill in the countryside with nobody in sight?"

Priscilla glared at him warningly and wagged her finger. "Ya should now why, stunt man. If ya hadn't wanted ta play Sylvester-Stallone-goes-David-Copperfield, ya wouldn't be here trudgin' all tha' way up ta tha' hilltop like that, ten kilometers 'way from Little Whinging! And who said there was nobody in sight?" she asked, holding her nose high and reminding Harry somewhat of McGonagall when she was proving a student wrong. _As the days pass by she scares me more and more. Is she the Fifth Knight of the Apocalypse or is it just the booze I'm taking?_ he wondered wearily. Harry stumbled towards the summit of the small promontory and bent over, letting his breath take its normal pace before taking a long look at the surroundings. Patches of trees were scattered over the landscape and some meager farms could be seen in the horizon, but the whole area seemed deserted with no living soul in sight as he had first assumed. He could, of course, sense, see, hear and smell little rodents scurrying over the grass in search for some food and night birds flying atop the hills seeking for eventual preys - but apart from that, no suspect sign of movement could draw his attention despite the breezy wind that made his long hair flap away and the grass swish lazily.

"Mmmh, seems clear," he commented, trying to improve his panoramic sight. "Seems. But I don't know if it _is_."

"Good differentiation," Priscilla approved. "Tha' fact that ya don't see somethin' movin' or that yar immediate surroundin's are clear doesn't mean that there's nothin' alive near ya. Always remember that. A predator needs ta now whether there's a peer nearby ta protect his own huntin' grounds or not. It's basically instinctive but ya gain that ability as ya grow up, from what I've been told."

"I guess," Harry admitted before he stiffened up, slowly rotating towards Priscilla, who was currently leaning against a small oak tree, lazily looking at the stars. "Cilia?"

"Yeah, Harry?" _That bloody chill...I remember that feeling...just like when I met Cilia for the first time..._

"Let me guess," the teenager began, looking skywards and bracing himself. "There's someone near us, right? Inside or behind that tree you're leaning on." Priscilla tilted her head sideways, as if questioning his theory. "Oh, come on, fang-boy, what makes ya think that?" she asked quizzically although the wizard could sense the tacit playfulness in her voice. Harry shook his head and continued, still eyeing the foliage warily. "You wouldn't have brought me here for nothing even for trekking or dropping training. You wanted me to meet someone, right? And I can feel one of _us_ near us. Most probably in this tree," he added, gesturing to the said oak tree. Priscilla beamed at his explanation and straightened up. "Alright, Modie, ya can come down," she called before winking delightedly at Harry. "That was tha' first part o' my so-called trainin' - test yar wits. Congrats, ya passed with flyin' colors, although ya took yar time." As her words died on her lips a slight ruffle of moving leaves snapped Harry's attention towards the foliage. A great, indistinct shadow emerged from the mass of green triangles, looming overhead sinisterly before floating down towards the ground like a heavy smoke. The 'fog' swirled upwards and narrowed to what looked like a monolith before finally defining itself into a human shape, all cloaked in black and turning his back to the open-mouthed wizard. The stranger waited for a moment before turning to Harry, smirking at the young vampire. "Interesting lad you've got here, Cilia," he told Priscilla. "At least that one isn't a dumb, bad ass-wannabe like my latest apprentice," he declared, examining the wizard from head to toe, setting a finger over his rock-chiseled lips.

Priscilla took a step forward and gestured towards the new man. "Harry, this is Asmodeus Latifas, one of tha' elder vampires in Great Britain. He was my trainer since my sire died shortly after I was turned in," she explained, her countenance darkening at her explanation. "Modie, this is Harry, Harry Potter." The vampire blinked in surprise before frowning in concentration, leaning forward to look at the young man more closely. "Well, well," he drawled, glancing at Harry's scar. "Isn't that a surprise! If next year I get to train the Dalai Lama or a blonde, ample-chested Miss Sweden I swear I'm going to snog a polar bear senseless," he smirked coldly, eliciting a laugh from Priscilla. Harry smiled weakly, not knowing whether to be offended or amused by the wry statement.

"At least you won't try dancing the macarena in female underwear in Piccadilly Circus," Harry replied.

Asmodeus glowered at him before returning to his previous sneer. _If that guy turns out to be a new Snape I'm gonna pull a pissed-Troll-on-steroids stunt on Priscilla AND that Asmodeus bloke. No shit._ "Good comeback, boy - quite decent. At least you know how to take some humor - unlike my last student. I nearly snapped his head off, if I remember well. He didn't stop crying because he couldn't take my comments with humor," he explained, shaking his head exasperatedly at the memory. "If I remember well, he dropped out of his education program and became a pizza delivery boy."

"Oh," said Harry, blinking at the news.

"At least that dimwit got out with a last bang, intelligence speaking: he chose a job that provided him with a new prey every night. Not only does he get paid in bank notes but also in blood," Asmodeus added, pursing his lips and looking at the horizon. Harry took that time to examine his new acquaintance: a tall - about six foot two inches', broad-shouldered man, dressed in casual clothes (which, in Harry's new fashion sense meant wearing a long, black leather coat, slacks and t-shirt) and sporting dark but silver-streaked, crew-cut hair on the front and a ponytail on the back of his head. If Harry didn't know better, he would have mistaken Asmodeus for an ex-Marine or something close to that by the way he stood straight and stiff, eyes alert and calculating. The first impression he got from the new vampire was that he, much like McGonagall when she had too much strong coffee in the morning, wasn't one to be crossed or simply contradicted in a trivial discussion.

"Now, let's stop dawdling and down to business," Asmodeus said, tearing Harry away from his analysis. He fished in his t-shit's breast pocket and took out a crumpled wad of paper. "This is a Portkey. Take it," he instructed the two vampires. "What about my car?" asked worriedly Priscilla, glancing at her nearby vehicle, parked under a tree. Asmodeus shrugged and took a mahogany wand out of his cloak and put an Illusion Charm on Priscilla's car. "You're a wizard," Harry breathed. "This guy is bright, Cilia," sneered the vampire. "I didn't know Muggles had purchased the production license for Portkeys - that might explain why he didn't realize it two seconds before..." he trailed off, rolling his eyes. Harry scowled. "Sorry if I didn't have enough time to process all those things you've been dumping by the ton on me," he shot back. "Then find it," replied Asmodeus with a dismissive shrug. "If you cannot go beyond_ your_ boundaries, then stretch the _boundaries _beyond _themselves_. That's one of the rules I've been abiding by and it never failed me," he snapped irritably.

_Whoa. Snape and Moody had an affair in the past and a son! How is this possible and which one of the two became pregnant?_

The three closed their fingers over the piece of paper and Asmodeus muttered the word 'chutzpah'. One second later, Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel as he felt himself spin around like a turn-pin, in a world awash with countless colors, until they appeared in cozy, 18th-century style living room, lit by countless floating candles Harry spun around and gazed at the expertly crafted wooden armchairs set around an ebony table already decked with three cups of tea and some biscuits. _Great, I just need Bach's _Toccata and Fugue in D minor _and I can call Hollywood to shoot the movie. One ticket for 'Harry Potter and the Vampiric Tea Set', please! I know it's rated NC17, no children allowed, but I still want to see it! _he imagined, resetting his mind into daydream mode. "Come on, make yourself comfortable, we have a lot of things to talk about," he grumbled at the two, beckoning them to take a chair. Harry sat next to Priscilla and waited for Asmodeus to join them.

"Right. Now we've got somewhere...cozier to talk in," he commented light-handedly, taking his cup of tea and bringing it to his lips. "So...tell me about your story, Cilia. Let's go down to the subject," he ordered briskly, turning towards the more relaxed female vampire. Priscilla nodded and explained Harry's encounter in Diagon Alley as well as how he had been attacked in the middle of the night and abandoned without training. Asmodeus rubbed his chin pensively and shot a glance towards an uneasy Harry. "So...in short, you took him in as your...apprentice?" he asked, a slight tinge of amusement in his words. Priscilla huffed and replied testily. "I thought 'apprentice' was for 'masters' an' elders?"

"True, true," admitted Asmodeus, intertwining his fingers and rubbing his lips with his twiddling thumbs. "You were always someone very impulsive - not that it is something bad but you could have asked for help, you know," he admonished sternly his former student. Priscilla frowned in annoyance and snapped a, "I know, why do ya think I'm here, for Lady Carmilla Sanguina's sake?" Asmodeus didn't reply and kept thinking to himself before turning towards Harry. "So in short - you, Harry Potter, nemesis of the Dark-Lord-Who-Makes-His-Not-Much-Awaited-Comeback, need a more serious training, right? Knowing the risks always hanging above you like a Sword of Damocles you cannot be taught the ways of the Nightstalkers like everyone else. You need to get the hardcore lessons. Survival is your ultimate goal," he stated, his piercing red eyes boring through Harry's. The young wizard nodded, his brains working in overdrive "But before we continue our delightfully entertaining discussion," he smirked, "one question: why did you run away?"

"What do you mean by that?" he asked testily, not feeling like answer that inquiry.

"I believe I asked the question first - and I needn't repeat myself - you heard me correctly," Asmodeus growled warningly. Harry nodded before reluctantly speaking up. "Vampires aren't very _appreciated _by the wizarding world," he began, eliciting a scoff from Asmodeus, who received in turn a glare from Harry but remained undeterred by the teenager's annoyance. "I know - understatements are overrated, is that it? Yes? Okay. That fact adds up to the another one - that I've been for a whole year labeled as either a liar, a madman or an attention-seeking git who endeavors to topple the government by spreading unfounded claims and other outrageous rumors. Although my words were proved true in the end, the prejudices still remain high and rampant in the wizarding world. Like a leitmotiv one can't get rid of. There are other people who even hold me responsible for...Voldemort's return," he muttered, noticing that neither of the two individuals around him flinched at the name. _Impressive for someone who belonged to the wizarding folk_, he thought. _But then again vampires are immortal - he might have been born before Voldemort's arising and raised not to fear his name_, he pondered, keeping that deduction in a part of his head. "My becoming a vampire would have been the stumbling block of the slandering campaign directed towards myself. My school - Hogwarts - would probably put me on probation since most of the school board is easy to sway if you know how to bribe people with money. You can only guess what mere _people_ would do. I don't want their pity or their scorn. What happened the night I was turned was bad enough. And I'm grateful for the new life I received," he concluded, gesturing towards Priscilla, making her blush slightly and Asmodeus quirk an eyebrow. "Ah - enjoying your new life, are you?" he asked.

"At least here I'm not the Boy-Who-Lived or the Boy-Who-Will-Vanquish-Moldy-Warts-Again. I'm just Harry. Not a tool, a weapon or a thing to be pitied, eyed like a raving beast or a curiosity. Just Harry," he hissed, feeling his anger boiling deep in the recesses of his conscious.

"Mmh," mused Asmodeus, his face softening somewhat at the diatribe. "What is this part about you being a weapon?" he questioned, frowning imperceptibly as he saw his interlocutor stiffen at the term. Harry's head turned slowly towards the male vampire and his green, red-laced eyes tore through Asmodeus'. "It should be obvious. That boy killed the Dark Wanker when he was barely _one_, so why can't he do it at _sixteen_? And if that's the case, why can't you use him for your own purposes despite his will to live through the hell people put him through?" he whispered, his voice hardening. Asmodeus leant back in his chair and smiled thinly. "I see - you want to leave that all behind. Revenge against those who fucked you behind your back?" he proposed, lifting an eyebrow and tilting his head to the side. _Don't tell him the Prophecy - it should remain known to yourself and nobody else. Period._

Harry remained silent for a moment before answering. "Maybe - if you see it like that." _Even though it's low it can't be helped. They aren't in my stead and will never know what I feel. So why should I have anything to reproach myself? It's not like I offended them first..._

"Then...do you think the attacks on the wizarding world would stop?"

Harry's silence lasted longer this time, until he uttered, defeated, "No." Priscilla shot him a sympathetic look, proving him that she was with him all the way.

"I can understand the first part of your reasons," amended Priscilla's former mentor. "But running away won't change things - you should have understood that with the attack in Diagon Alley. Then why didn't you return to your peers?"

"Why do you want to know?" Harry snapped heatedly.

"Temper, temper, for Almighty Dracula's sake," Asmodeus grinned sinisterly in response. "If you get angry your defenses will inevitably come down and you could easily let things slip. You're a newly turned in vampire, right? Then you should feel that sense of omnipotence, of control, right? It happens with everyone," he pointed out smugly, seeing Harry's dumbfounded expression as he saw through him and found out about his feelings. "The change is so brutal new vampires think they could easily juggle with Mounts Everest and Fuji eyes closed. Well, I've got news for you: it's only an _impression_. It will fade out as you get used to it and discover your limits. Vampires can't die - they live forever - but. That. Doesn't. Mean. They. Can't. Be. Killed," Asmodeus hammered, his teeth grinding.

"I understand," agreed Harry, sighing heavily. "And that's what you're here for, lad," concluded Asmodeus with a scowl. "I'm going to train you and I'm not going to go easy on you."

"Train me?" stammered Harry, snapping out of his disheartened and rather angry mood. "But - wha - what about Priscilla and..." he began, his head snapping towards the aforementioned individual who held up her hands in apology, obviously saying, _'it's beyond my limits, now'._

"You mean your 'partying'?" questioned Asmodeus with an amused, almost disdainful look.

"'Partying'?"

"Yes, like in 'attending parties at night' - going in discotheques, drinking shots till three A.M. and all what enjoying the night entails for our overenthusiastic and careless youth. The whole nine yards. That's kindergarten, boy. Not academy level. No offence meant, of course," he told Priscilla, who waved him off, her gesture contradicted by her miffed expression. "Your muscles are essentially stronger than a Muggle's but they are not as developed as they should be. You do not work out they way you should. Heaving stacks of books everyday won't save you unless you challenge the Dark Lord to a weights-raising contest. But that is as unlikely as seeing the Queen performing a striptease in front of Buckingham Palace or the Pope doing breakdance in St Peter's Basilica," he commented, making Priscilla chuckle at the picture. Obviously both of them were iconoclasts and not conservative people in the slightest, despite how Asmodeus' home looked like.

"And what am I going to do?"

"Each week, every two days, you are to come here with this Portkey," he instructed, giving Harry a long, blue pen, which the wizard examined then pocketed. "The activation word is 'wolverine' - completely random therefore impossible to find. Same thing to say aloud to go back to your previous location. By the way, since we are in Scotland, we've got nice hills and valleys to use for our training," he added, slipping a sadistic smile on his face and making Harry shiver involuntarily. "Other than that, I'll train you in magic. Auror training, since I was an Auror before I 'retired' from that bloodily ungrateful world - you are right about that, at least," he confirmed begrudgingly. "You can spend the nights in between to go out with Cilia and sharpen your hunting skills on the sidelines. You'll learn the true tools of the trade with me. Consider your 'partying' as practical training, not learning lessons. That's what we're going to do you and me," he explained, taking a last sip of his tea before setting his cup down on the platter. "That said, if you cannot meet me, send me an owl - you still have it, don't you?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes at Harry. "Of - of course, I still have Hedwig."

"Excellent. Owls are bloody useful as well as discreet messengers. People, even from the magical folk, don't expect vampires to use that means of communication so it'll be okay," he acknowledged.

He rose from his seat, offering his hand at Priscilla, which she took to get up, quickly followed by Harry. "Thanks for tha' help, Modie. Sorry for tha' inconvenience, too, but it couldn't be helped," she apologized, shaking her head. Her former teacher dismissed her excuse with a shrug of the shoulder. "Remember, rule number four - 'every sire must take care of the childe it turned in lest he be dragged in front of the council of the elders and be sentenced to slow, painful and unadulterated death'. We're just respecting - enforcing - our laws," he pointed out, his scowl lessening as he kept talking to Priscilla. Harry figured that both of them shared something deep but he could tell neither of the two were engaged in any affectionate type of relationship, save for the teacher-student bond. _Might be something else_, he judged, letting go of the matter he deemed trivial and unnecessary. _It doesn't look like a conversation between ex-lovers to me..._ Asmodeus handed the female vampire a third Portkey and beckoned the two to take a hold of the little wooden stick, before pointing his wand to the item and muttering 'leprechaun'.

"By the way, Potter, if you dare call me 'Modie' I'll do bungee jumping with your intestines, got it?" the older vampire warned, baring his sharpened teeth.

"Okay," he sputtered, not feeling like losing the contents of his body for something so stupid.

Then they disappeared before finding themselves back in the field, near the car.

* * *

"He really reminds me of a guy named Moody - even the similarity between their names is uncanny. And to be blunt, he's downright creepy...almost sadistic," Harry shivered, taking his seat at the kitchen table. Lizzie was nowhere in sight, probably already tucked in her bed and sleeping soundlessly. "Was he like that with you?" he asked Priscilla, earning himself a nonchalant shrug. "Nah, but remember that ya're takin' tha' full trainin' thingy, Harry. I never asked ta be a Nightslasher, just a Nightstalker."

"Nightslasher?" he asked, not familiar with the term.

Priscilla took a bottle of orange juice from the fridge and grabbed two glasses, one for Harry and the other for herself. "_Nightstalkers _are vampires who are content with livin' an' drinkin' blood. Nothin' more, nothin' less. _Nightslashers_ would be yar vampire equivalent of...Hit Wizards, I think. Nightstalkers are trained ta fight dirty with top-of-tha'-notch weapons. Warriors, for lack of a better term. Often sworn ta defend tha' vampire community an' keep some rogue individuals in check. Vampire policemen, if ya want. Mercenaries would be another synonym but Nightslashers don't always fight for money. Just duty, most o' tha' time," she explained, pouring the orange beverage inside the two recipients and taking her own. "Keep in yar mind that for tha' People o' tha' Dark, honor is o' tha' essence - scorn it an' ya'll be deader than yesterday's fish."

"And that's what I'm going to become - a Nightslasher?" he asked, a smile tugging uncertainly at his lips.

"Yeah," nodded Priscilla, gulping down her orange juice and shooting him a proud smile. "But ya won't hafta take tha' Nightslasher Oath towards tha' elders, I mean those who vote our laws inside our community. Only non-retired Nightslashers officially recognized by tha' elder council can name ya an official Nightslasher but not freelance trainers like ole Modie Latifas," she drawled.

"Oh. I guess that's a good thing, right?" Harry commented, relieved in some way.

"Maybe," she admitted. "But vampires don't like vigilantes. Not at all - tha' council might take it as a new rival faction emergin' within tha' society - a danger contestin' their power an' supremacy. An' if ya mess up, nobody will be there ta back ya up. Trial fair an' square, no official pardon or second chance."

"Ah."

The two remained silent for a moment before Harry found the will to speak up. "Tell me, Cilia. This Asmodeus, how did you meet him? It seems like you're rather friendly with him in comparison to the tone he took with me..." he trailed off, waiting for her answer. What he received, however, was something completely unexpected. Priscilla seemed suddenly quite nervous and he could see her hands clenching around the glass she was holding close to her lips. He witnessed her brown eyes darkening, a phenomenon he wasn't quite used to. Her composure became suddenly quite sinister but not threatening. She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut a second later, as if hesitating on what she would say.

Finally, she settled for a meek, "I'd rather not talk 'bout it." Harry felt the finality in her statement and didn't bother to answer. Instead he sheepishly turned towards the fridge and picked up the last slice of some cherry cake and grabbed the sugar container to quell the food's sweetness.

He noticed that Priscilla had strangely lost all her liveliness and shook his head, reminding himself that messing things up was now a trademark characteristic of the Potter line. He sighed mournfully before plunging his spoon in the cake, cutting a small morsel and shoveling it in his mouth. Two seconds later, his eyes grew to the size of saucers and he sped from his chair down to the bathroom, gagging and coughing all the way.

Priscilla blinked in surprise, walked up to Harry's chair and took herself a bite of the cake. She then grumbled in annoyance and turned around, calling, "Harry! Can't ya even tell tha' difference between tha' sugar and tha' salt containers?"

A muffled gurgle and a retching sound were her only reply.

"And I made Modie train him - good lord, what have I done?" she moaned, covering her ears with worn hands.

* * *

"Are you 'kay, Harry?" Lizzie inquired, staring at her roommate with puzzled eyes. To an onlooker's eye the male vampire looked quite peaked and his wariness at handling food that morning was rather bewildering to the young girl who couldn't understand his antics. Eyeing the pack of sugar with a small shudder, Harry replied with a casual, "yeah, I'm alright," as he tried to prevent himself from being embarrassed before even the beginning of the day.

"If you say so," she commented offhandedly, returning to her marmalade-covered toast. From the other side of the table, Priscilla smirked at him.

_Don't you dare remind me of that_, Harry's miffed gaze told her; she shrugged, dropping the subject. "Anyway, Liz, ya should finish yar breakfast - we're leavin' in fifteen minutes. Gear up," she announced, glancing at her wristwatch. Lizzie huffed indignantly and shoved the rest of her meal down her throat before cleaning her napkin and placing her dish in the faucet. Harry smiled fondly at the young girl, taking great pleasure in the display of her innocence - something he thought wouldn't exist anymore in this world of brutes where death and destruction reigned like unyielding kings.

"I'm done," he said, before retreating to his own room to snatch his belongings for the day. He had been thinking all morning long about Asmodeus and couldn't help but dread the lessons he would be getting; the man's behavior was decidedly not comforting in the least and one could understandably wonder what horrors laid in store. Shaking his head so as to not think about any unpleasant scenarios he completed his attire with a Metallica t-shirt and a pair of plaid trousers, not forgetting to bring his wand with him, tucked in his slacks' waistband for better use. Hedwig was in the living room, probably being petted by a _very_ affectionate Lizzie who turned out to be one hell of an animal maniac. His owl, fortunately and unsurprisingly, didn't mind all the attention - even going up to relish the unexpected worship.

"Ready?" inquired Priscilla as he came out of his room. "Yeah."

The trio went out for their usual day - of work for two and of studying for the remaining one. Thirty minutes later, Harry and his companion were unlocking the front door of _Booklets and Papers. _Harry stared at the small park for children in front of the bookshop and spoke up. "Say, Cilia...how long is this training going to take?"

Priscilla looked up from the antitheft alarm system and rubbed her chin. "Mmmmh...if I remember well, 'tis between one an' three years, but Modie told me it really depended on tha' apprentice. There're certain talents that aren't found in some but well in others...and, well, ya can guess it, tha' more talented ya're, tha' longer it takes," she answered.

"Oh. And...err...is it hard?" he continued nervously. _If she's going to tell me it's a piece of cake, I swear I'm going to sing Elvis Presley's _Don't Be Cruel_ in the middle of Trafalgar Square wearing Dobby's tea cozy!_

"Depends on what ya're able ta do, Harry. Don't ask me, I wouldn't know. But Asmodeus does have a knack in makin' people progress, though I never expressed tha' wish ta have an apprenticeship. 'Cause of Lizzie an' tha' bookshop, ya know," she trailed off. Harry nodded and retreated towards the back room, where a couple of boxes awaited him. He took a pile of _Forbes _magazines and started distributing them on a dedicated aisle, his mind wandering elsewhere. He wallowed in that same state the entire day, his silence not going unnoticed to his roommate who saw in there the hints of a deep worry.

As they drove back home, Priscilla finally looked away from the road as the car came to a stop under a red light. "Tell me, Harry - what's buggerin' ya? Ya've been silent all day - 's it Modie's lessons ya're nervous 'bout?" she inquired, her brows creasing. Harry shook his head, not really in the mood to explain very private subjects but feeling nevertheless that his host had a right to know. _Seems like our much awaited, honest-to-goodness conversation is due to happen right now... _"No - it's just that a Nightslasher, from what it sounds, shares a lot of things with an Auror - wizard policemen, you know," he clarified. _And Asmodeus is too freaky a mirror image of Moody...or was it Snape? If it's a mix of the two, then it's a very bad, foul-tasting cocktail...darned poisonous!_

Priscilla nodded slowly, biting her finely chiseled lip. "I see - ya don't want ta remember yar old community, do ya?" she questioned. Harry confirmed reluctantly her assumption. "Last year, at that school in Scotland I said that I was considering being an Auror...and...well, all that Nightslasher's stuff makes me recall other memories. Some of them are agreeable, others not."

Priscilla gazed at him from the corner of her eye. "Well, I think it brings up tha' question I should've asked ya a long while ago: _do ya really want ta forget them_?"

Harry didn't answer, picturing himself falling helplessly into a darkened abyss, a gaping hole that wouldn't let him escape. He sensed like an odd weight on his chest, preventing him from breathing safely - a burden he couldn't deal with for he didn't have strength enough to heave it off himself, throw it over his shoulder and be done with it. Forever. For all he knew he wouldn't probably be able to do so in even three decades until someone had the idea to Obliviate him. Be it willingly or not. At long last Harry sighed. "It's not really that, but if I am to go back there I will once again be confronted with things I don't ever want to meet again. And each time it gets worse, despite all my hopes that it'd be better the next day. I saw people die in front of me, _because_ of me...and that was the last straw," he uttered gloomily, his mind invaded by unbidden memories he had strived to lock within the darkest recesses of his soul.

"Lotsa people die every day, Harry. It's called _shit happens. _Murphy's Law. Bad luck. Fate. An'...I think my selfishness alarm is ringin'," she chastised.

"Can you blame me for it? For trying to get away from the pain? The bad memories? Couldn't you understand if I were unable to cope with the thoughts of how helpless I am, of how I can't deal with the trouble? Or if I were unable to keep going on like that, for all it's worth to you?" he asked, despair filling his forest green eyes. For a moment his lightning bolt scar stood out, the small reddish ravine accentuated by a light's play. Priscilla's shoulders slumped down. "I know it's bad ta judge people if ya don't know what they went through, Harry, but...well...it...it sounds like ya're runnin' away an' I just want ta spare ya tha' trouble or it'll hunt ya forever..." she whispered.

"Running away, as you said," Harry corrected sheepishly, "may have been the best decision I made so far when it comes to private life and dealing with my existence. Maybe I could have been happier that way, even if I ended up dead in a gutter with a slit throat. I'd have been free and not cooped up in a house, wondering when everything would stop and I'd finally see a bit of sunshine through the clouds."

"Don't be overly dramatic," Priscilla sighed, swerving to the right. "But, still...why did ya forget everythin' 'bout them so fast? Yar friends..." she pressed on.

"Everything changed last year, Cilia," Harry answered, burying his head in his hands. "So many things weren't the same anymore. The rules changed. Everybody changed. Reality backfired. It was no longer Eden, it became Hell. People kept hiding important things from me; I was insulted, rejected, branded as a liar, a faker...only for what? To see _my godfather _die in front of my eyes because I've been pushed over the edge by everything I'd been dealt with. Returning to the wizarding world would be re-exposing myself to what killed Sirius," he whispered, his voice strained with sadness. "And if I am to continue living there, more people will die because of me."

"That's not all there is ta it," Priscilla deadpanned, decreasing the Ford's speed and cursing at a nearby driver who roared down the lane to avoid a green light turning red. "Ain't it?"

Harry fidgeted with the radio, feeling slightly relieved when he heard a song from Blink 182. Music was purported to soothe wounded souls but there were times he believed that his was beyond healing. Hopeless. The distraction only offered him a brief respite before the pain resumed its undermining work.

"No...it's a bloody dilemma, Cilia. One I don't want to be confronted with. To put it simply, I am torn between two worlds. Yours is a paradise in stark comparison to my former one. I am restrained there while I am free here. I had no hold over my destiny yet you now offer me a chance at freedom. I thought that as a vampire I'd have to embrace your way of living - no, no, Cilia, let me finish, please," he pleaded as he saw her opening her mouth and her face darkening. He didn't want her to harbor any misconceptions about his decision to live with her. "As I said, vampires are not tolerated in the wizarding world; I'd have been rejected among my former classmates. They already hold me as someone out of the ordinary - potentially dangerous for certain people. On top of that, my relatives and neighbors treated me as a repulsive freak. So imagine all their faces when they'd learn that their so-called savior and hero of the day is now nothing more than a vampire. You even said so when you first me, in that bar: they'd go nuts over it. My guess was then that the only place where I'd be able to find happiness, comfort, shelter...and an opportunity to finally have a normal life...would lie with you. And I don't regret my choice, Cilia. You made me saw life through other eyes," he supplicated. "I never enjoyed myself that much, even at Hogwarts. Here, it's...well, how can I say it? There're no words to explain it...it's...it's exhilarating...bloody fantastic..." he smiled sadly, scoffing at the lack of appropriate words. Maybe Hermione, with her expansive knowledge of common life, could have come up with something but he couldn't put it into perfect, faithful words that could possibly convey his fervor towards his newfound existence.

"D'ya like bein' with us, me an' Lizzie?" Priscilla inquired after a short moment, crossing her arms across her well-endowed chest.

"Cilia...how can I put it..." Harry whispered tiredly. "...You're...well...to tell the truth...you're...oh, this is embarrassing," he chuckled nervously, earning himself a puzzled look from the female vampire, who gunned the engine once the light turned green and resumed her driving. "You're the closest thing I had to a...a...a _sister_," he blurted, the outburst nearly making Priscilla slam on the brakes and send them soaring through a nearby newspaper-selling kiosk. _Ack! I'm too young to die! God help me against female drivers! _"I...I'm sorry," he apologized, paling at her bewildered look. "I...I shouldn't have said that," he stammered, wondering if he had said the wrong thing. He was now as red-faced as someone who caught his best friend having a 'quickie' with a stranger. Enough to make one pop blood vessels and die of external hemorrhage.

_Okay...here's the drill: open mouth...insert foot..._

"No, no, no..." Priscilla stammered, obviously shocked by the revelation. She looked quite shaky, though Harry couldn't tell whether she was embarrassed or moved by his declaration. Hanging his flushed head low, he turned back to the road in front of him, mourning another one of his famous blunders. _I keep doing more of them...am I a trouble magnet?_ "In...in fact...Harry," she muttered, her lips curving shyly into a smile, "I...I'm quite honored for ya ta think o' me like that...really...I...yeah, ya're somewhat of a younger brother ta me - tha' one I never had," she murmured, her eyes slightly darkening. "Thanks for sayin' that, Harry. It means a lot ta me..." she said in a placating, wavering voice.

"Oh, you...you're welcome," Harry said, feeling now ashamed by his mental struggle over the matter. For him the feeling of relief was indescribable - it seemed like a great tsunami of freshness entering his body and cleansing him of any dirt that marred his soul, lifting the lead weights entangled around his shoulders. It was pure ecstasy - liberation. Pure, undiluted catharsis. He slunk lower in his seat, letting a deep, comforted breath out and finally allowing his lungs to replenish their stock of fresh air. Glancing at his companion, he caught her hastily wiping the edges of her eyes before resuming their conversation. "Back on tracks - don't ya at least regret what ya did? I'd really like ta know if there's somethin' holdin' ya back..." she attempted, only to be cut off by her companion.

"Yeah, I regret leaving my friends, yeah, I regret forgetting them and the memories...but I just can't go back...I'm too afraid to do so. Everyone now pictures me as a fearless leader of the Light but they won't bother trying to get to know me...they would just think of me as the Boy-Who-Lived and once there'll be a battle, they won't hesitate to drag me to the front lines telling me it's my job to save them, no matter what I think. Can't you understand that other reason? They wait a lot of things from me - too much, in my opinion. It's as if my destiny had been preordained long before my birth," he moaned, giving her a clue about his deepest secrets and the swamp of trouble he was falling in. "And I don't want to disappoint them since they put all their hopes on me - but I don't want to do the job they entrusted me with either. It'll get me killed faster than waiting for an eighteen-wheeler to run me down on London's commuter belt. Yeah, it's holding me back, though I wish it weren't the case so that I could be with you and Lizzie. It's just that all those memories are coming back and they hurt more than they make me happy. It's a painful longing, while with you I don't have to worry about anything. I just live my life to its fullest extent, as I wish I could have done a big deal earlier."

"But ya remember what Modie said, don't ya?" she frowned disapprovingly. "Ya can't drop them like that, no matter what - ya've still got a commitment towards them. 'Cause nobody could probably do yar job far ya. And someone _imperatively _needs ta do it, no matter what."

"I know," he muttered, discontent with how reality treated him and how the blames, even unintended, accumulated themselves at his doorstep. "But I can't do it under those conditions...it'd be worse than slavery...it doesn't give me much leeway in getting a break...and it gets worse by the year...I've already squandered my resistance to fend off the stress but I feel like I can't do it anymore without losing myself. Becoming a vampire was the final blow to my resolve to keep my head out of the water. I need to breathe freely."

"And when will ya make a move towards yar other world?" she said, her eyes beseeching a definitive answer.

"When I'll be ready," Harry replied curtly, wishing to conclude this conversation the earliest possible.

"And when will that be?" Priscilla asked.

Harry lapsed into silence before uttering a defeated:

"I don't know."

* * *

Waiting on the edge of a storm that awaited to blow the remnants of your life away was in no way an easy task. For someone used to expect great dangers to come and dramas to unfold, Harry considered the building tension as painfully unbearable. Somehow he felt that his lessons with Asmodeus wouldn't be a piece of cake in the least. The sadistic glint entrenched deep within the vampire's eyes had conveyed a message that spoke of hardships and exertion - two prices to pay for cathartic success. Somehow Harry looked forward to his apprenticeship while dreading the retired Auror's ways of treatment. As his new master had declared earlier, he wouldn't probably give him easy exercises to complete but show him how weak he was till he could get himself together and evolve towards a better self. Or so he thought.

Asmodeus was no Snape and no Moody either, despite the likenesses the three shared. Yet, to Harry's guarded curiosity, there was something Asmodeus wasn't telling: the explanation to his coldness towards his newest student. His leniency towards Priscilla was a sure sign of how Harry specifically got the cold shoulder; truth be told, the young wizard wasn't sure how to take it. Lying on his bed and surrounded by yet unread books, Harry reminisced his Occlumency studies with Snape, all of which had been doomed to failure from the start as the Potions professor hadn't been able to let go of his hatred, directed at the departed James Potter. Deep within him, Harry prayed that his apprenticeship wouldn't be concluded in the same fashion. _And to think, Sirius died because of our failure to have a working understand between each other...damn you, Slimeball Snivellus..._

_It's ironic how the past never lets you rest. It always snatches you back, especially when you're enjoying the present the most. If there's a God upstairs then he must have a very shitty sense of humor_, he cogitated. _Now not only do I have to train with a trigger-happy-looking vampire but Priscilla has got a mixed opinion towards me. What bloody made this life go to hell?_

He was about to take a dive in his pit of gloominess when a sharp rap of knuckles on his door made his head shoot up. "Yeah?"

"Can I come in?" called Priscilla from the corridor. "Yeah, you can," he answered. Priscilla entered his room, still in her daytime attire. Obviously she hadn't readied herself for this night's hunt - in other words, donning dark Goth clothes that'd make her look more like a nightlife-loving person. Harry swung his legs off the mattress and pulled himself into a sitting position. "Are we going?"

Priscilla let her eyes wander around the bedroom, taking in its downcast emptiness. "Yeah, in less than a half hour," she answered half-interestedly. "Seems pretty empty, ain't it?" she commented, walking to the window to pet Hedwig, who let out a soft _hoot_. Harry averted his eyes, his features drooping somewhat. "I don't have much to scatter around and no real pictures to hang."

"Not even yar friends'?" she countered. Harry shook his head. "Album," he corrected. "No frames." She nodded understandingly. "One day ya'll need ta liven this up - I feel like in a soddin' hospital room. Contains life, helps people live but has a dead atmosphere..." she trailed off. "I'll think about it," Harry responded dismissively.

"Tonight, Harry, you're goin' ta try tha' Shadowblendin' technique. It'll be nothin' much. No huntin', just blendin' yarself wi'tha environment."

"Really?" asked Harry, instantly losing his brooding attitude. The Shadowcloak had really impressed him that night where she first showed him what a full-fledged vampire could do - it was like becoming something unreachable, impossible to snatch and control. An elusive being that could easily disappear in the nature yet still lurk around you, ready to strike when the appropriate time came. It seemed even neater than Animagus training as it bore more mysterious looks. Priscilla couldn't help herself from smiling as she saw Harry's eyes gleaming excitedly at the prospect. She guessed that her decision to speed things up before Asmodeus' lessons was a good thing in more than one way, as it would provide Harry with a welcome diversion and keep his mind off ever-present and unpleasant matters.

Tonight, she vowed silently, they wouldn't talk about the past anymore.

For it had hurt her too to do so, unbeknownst to her adoptive childe. And a sire always looks to his charge's welfare and not his uneasiness.

"Whoa, chill it, fang-boy", she grinned amusedly, entertained by his antics. "Yeah, but we're gonna do it near that Montrose Street; nobody comes there anymore so we'll be unbothered by passersby," she confirmed, much to Harry's unbridled delight. "Wicked," he beamed positively and stood up, gathering a new set of nightlife clothes. God knew how eagerly he was looking forward to _that_ particular lesson. It was highly different from casting spells and other magicks that they'd learn at Hogwarts and seemed closer to Self-transfiguration, a side of magic Harry had secretly been wondering about very lately, ever since he'd discovered that his father had been a successful Animagus. Riding the night in a wispy state was something that boggled his mind and excited his imagination to great lengths.

"Then get yarself ready to roll, I'm goin' ta put Lizzie ta sleep. Ya might want ta bring Hedwig ta her otherwise she'll be comin' in tha' middle o' tha' night ta say 'goodnight, 'dwig!'" she suggested, extending her arm so that the aforementioned pet could hop on it. Harry saw that the avian settled herself on the proffered limb without hesitation, a gesture which brought a smile on Harry's lips as he knew that the tawny, snow white owl was an excellent judge of character and wouldn't relinquish her safety to the next person she'd meet with such a trusting abandon.

Twelve minutes later, Harry and Priscilla were in front of their apartment complex, ready to enter her battered Ford - a surprising change since the pair usually went by foot towards their hunting grounds. Harry noticed that for once she seemed quite solemn, almost withdrawn. Lost in her thoughts.

"Is there something wrong?" he inquired, flummoxed at her almost downcast demeanor. Priscilla blinked and shook her head. "Oh...err...no, no...just rememberin' my lessons with Modie when he was still trainin' me..." she stammered, her eyes strangely distant.

"Oh..." Harry said. "Was it hard?"

"In tha' beginnin', yeah. Apparently, non-magical folk have a harder time trainin' in order ta be a Nightstalker, while wizards an' witches get tha' hang of it pretty fast. Modie told me it was a question of feelin' and experience and magical folk were more in tune with that type o' exercise..." she trailed off, her attention drawn to the road and the incoming cars.

"I see."

A quarter of an hour later, both were standing in the middle of a small alley, hidden from view by some shrubs that had grown too large and provided an interesting hideout for those who were to find that area, conveniently hidden from undesired view. In the 19th century it had been a small street heading towards the back entrance of a small factory that had been converted years later into a printing building before the company went bankrupt. Ever since, Priscilla explained, those ruins had become training grounds for vampires who appreciated the deserted settings and their seclusion from inhabited zones.

Harry stumbled upon a little brick buried under a mass of decayed, fallen leaves and swore under his breath. "Stop cussin', Harry, an' come here," Priscilla disciplined him, ushering him to step forward, into the middle of the alleyway. Shadows surrounded like them a mantle, yet he could feel no anxiety towards the scenery - maybe another vampiric feature: to feel oneself safe in the presence of abundant darkness.

"'Kay. So, today...well, tonight, ya'll gonna learn what _all _vampires are taught just after bein' successful in what I call 'casual' huntin'. Disco-huntin', I mean," she grinned impishly, causing Harry to groan at the embarrassing memories that still plagued his mind. Her constant teasing did nothing to erase them either. "If ya remember well my first introduction ta ya o' what vampires are able ta do and my preview of tha' Shadowblendin', predators mostly use camouflage ta get near ta their preys. A device used ta blend inta tha' environment.

"A vampire's body is more in tune ta Nature's creations than ya think. We are able ta sense things from afar, foretell an animal's actions and such...dependin' on how well ya're trained. In fact, vampiric trainin' is nothin' other than tha' lengthy process o' awakenin' yarself ta yar true abilities, which are sorta locked within ya. Ya've already got tha' ability ta Shadowcloak yarself - certain freshly turned in vamps have been witnessed partially or completely Shadowcloakin' in situations o' extreme danger - we call that tha' 'berserker' state. Tha' smell o' blood turns us on an' we revert ta our most primal instincts, which enable us ta tap in those hidden strengths at certain highly stressful moments but untrained berserkers can't do it when they aren't lustin' for blood. I gather ya already heard of those tales where a woman sees her child bein' crushed by a car, runs over ta tha' scene and lifts tha' vehicle with one hand ta free her progeny. Those situations always bring tha' better outta us," she explained.

Harry nodded, lost in thought and genuinely interested by the revelation. "You mean that if I were to go...berserk, I'd be able to Shadowcloak, even if I haven't learnt the Shadowblending Technique yet?"

"Yah," she confirmed with a small nod. "It'd be easier for ya - it'd be _instinctive_. 'Cause o' tha' adrenaline rushes an' tha' mind that is more in tune with yar body 'cause o' tha' agitation an' stress. But _right now_ is another matter. Ya're rested, ya're in no danger, so..." she shrugged with a disinterested expression. "Anyway, tha' disco-huntin' sessions had two purposes," she continued, pacing a bit. "First was ta get ya tha' hang of huntin' an' second ta learn ya patience an' concentration. Usually, when new vamps start learnin' Shadowblendin', they do meditation exercises, but since Modie's gonna train ya as a _Nightslasher_, ya'll probably need a crash course ta facilitate things."

Harry acquiesced, seeing the logic behind her explanations. The apprenticeship with Asmodeus was indeed rushed but the haste they were animated with couldn't be avoided or prevented for all it was worth. Now that the Order knew of his survival, Harry would need some additional assets and hidden trump cards to eventually create a way out of their grasp should they finally catch up with him...and, well, corner him. Not to mention the possibility that, despite the fact that he was the Boy-Who-Lived, he might be considered as a potential danger the second the wizarding world would learn of his vampirism. Recalling how many hate letters Hermione had received in fourth year, courtesy of one cursed Rita Skeeter, he couldn't fathom how easily people could be swayed by misguided, ill-meant media attention and even less their reaction to his new state. "I'm ready."

"Right, just roll yar sleeves up ta yar elbows, so that I can see whether ya'll be Shadowcloakin' tonight or not. Since ya're wearing black," she commented. "I'll not be able ta tell unless I see some o' yar skin."

"Oh...I see...sorry about that," he apologized, indulging her by pulling his jumper's sleeves back to elbow level. He felt the night's frost biting but not meanly. As a vampire the cold was no longer an enemy but a long forgotten friend that he greeted from afar but never talked to directly. An ally at best. Priscilla smiled encouragingly and directed him towards a small alcove near one of the alleyway's extremities. The niche was the size of a human being and darkened, making it an excellent hideout in case someone tracked him down this area. Nonetheless, Harry guessed the construction would have another purpose for this night... "D'ya see that empty space, there?" Priscilla asked. "Yeah, well, envision tha' darkness that fills it. Close yar eyes. Yeah, like that," she ordered, putting her hand on his face.

Harry obediently shut his eyes and tried to bring up in his mind's eye the picture of the alcove, paying extra attention to the lingering shadows, all while listening to Priscilla's soft, nearly hypnotizing voice. "Ya hafta think of it as a matter, Harry. Darkness is matter. It clings ta tha' wall like a curtain. It's an immaterial pool. A sea. Black water. Ink." Obeying her instructions, he tried to forsake his convictions about science and tried to replace some natural axioms by others, more farfetched, to mislead his mind and perceptions. "Can ya see it? That mass that hangs 'round tha' alcove?" she whispered.

"No, not yet." _If someone comes in and start talking to me about psychology and the mysteries of the Freudian unconscious I'll wring his neck as if he were a need-to-be-roasted turkey! Whatever, let's just concentrate._

"Focus. Imagine that tha' sun is loomin' overhead. Tha' shadows over tha' alcove are movin'." Harry did as she told so and he pictured the alcove's darkness shifting its position, changing its shape. "Now, try ta think of the movin' shadow as waves, like tha' sea's. They come an' go, just like water. It doesn't matter that it's vertical...it's like seawater on a beach but seen from a different angle and another color...tha' wave comes, crashes an' withdraws...comes, crashes...withdraws..." After a few minutes, Harry could very well see within his mind the ocean of black swirling like a vortex, moving relentlessly, as if animated by an unseen life.

_And aliens come to Earth wearing 'viva Michael Jackson' tee-shirts and making lectures on how sanity must be kept in human minds to prevent interstellar wars from happening...right...oh, yeah...forgot: I must concentrate. Concentrate. Fucking aliens. Concentrate._

"Very well," she congratulated. "Now think of yarself as a swimmer, standin' on a divin' board. Look at tha' swimmin' pool beneath you," she went on. Harry, eyelids still clamped together, scrunched his face in mental exertion, picturing himself as a diver assessing the strength he would need to throw in his momentum. "Ya need ta swim, ta dive. Tha' pool beneath ya is yar destination. Don't move yet," she laughed as she saw him leaning forwards, as if effectively trying to mimic the diver she was portraying with her words. Harry's breathing grew shallower as he put all of his brain's efforts into a single image, which he struggled to maintain within the confines of his mind, fresh as a newly plucked rose. Ironically he could thank Severus Snape for the Occlumency lessons as he could now focus onto a single image or thought without any problem. The premises of this type of prowess, very hard to achieve under certain circumstances, made their first appearance in fourth year, during the Imperius lessons - when he had to break the hold the Controlling Curse would have on him. Experience, in the long run, made perfect. "Stay where ya are. Ya're in yar mind, nowhere else. Forget tha' niche, just keep tha' image in yar mind," she clarified, her tone a bit sterner to keep him in check. No need to have him ram his gums into a brick wall because of self-inflicted illusions. She turned Harry ninety degrees to his left so that he wasn't facing the alcove anymore. "Go back ta business. Tha' pool is ripplin' beneath ya...ya can see tha' waves ever comin' and goin', ever changin', yeah?"

_Sounds a little bit more farfetched than Rita Skeeter writing an eulogy about _honest_ people__, but I'll try anyway...now, concentrate._

"Yeah..." His brows fused together, while his intakes of breath grew more spaced...he could almost hear his heart thumping slowly, faintly, within his ribcage, as if beating in unison with his fervent thoughts. He could sense Priscilla's heartbeat, too...the mad flapping of a bird taking off from a neighboring roof...a fly buzzing angrily as it strained to get itself off the a cobweb it had flown into...the wind howling softly...Priscilla's voice echoing off the decrepit walls...all rebounding around wildly, coming back like a vengeance and weaving a mold of perceptions around his still form.

Complete awareness...

_Forget those..._he snapped inwardly. _Concentrate on the diving board. On the diving board, Potter!_ Strangely the voice that had snarled in his head sounded a lot like Asmodeus'. Last year it had been Hermione's but this time... _Con-fucking-cen-bloody-trate, Harry. No aliens, no Fudge dancing the polka, no Hermione happily burning her books, no Voldemort dressed like a nun and chanting the 'Ave, Maria', just the board and you standing on it. Motto of the day...well, night: 'concentrate'. Just concentrate._

"Now, try to picture yarself divin'. Ya're ready, eager ta take tha' plunge," slithered his mentor's voice in his ears. "Now, draw a deep breath in. Ya need ta become one with tha' water. Imagine yarself meldin' with it. Let's get back ta tha' moment ya're still on tha' board...ya flex yar knees then...ya spring...ya remain in midair...an' ya enter tha' water...ya're one with it...ya're tha' water...there're no limits...just ya...nothin' else exists tha' moment...no perceptions...just ya..." she suggested, stepping closer to the wizard and taking care not to break his concentration.

_My body is fusing with the water...I am the water..._

"Ya must feel like ya're meltin' - just keep on rewindin' tha' memory, like a movie in yar head. First it's tha' rush o' tha' momentum. Next is yar jump in tha' air then, slowly ya feel yarself fallin' down, goin' inta freefall.Now try ta feel like ya're fallin', deeper an' deeper...inta tha' pool...like ya're drawn ta it, like a magnet...ya must sense tha' pull...it's callin' ya, beggin' ya ta come," she said, her voice gaining on almost mystical tones. Harry was drawn to it like a man stranded in the desert would long for a cup of fresh water glimpsed in the distance. He felt his will focusing on the sea of shadows, finding an odd attraction to that otherworldly realm, as if he belonged there. It beckoned him to go forward.

_I need to go there...into the shadows...to _become _the shadows..._

_To become the shadows..._

Suddenly he began to blank out. Priscilla's soft, honey sweet voice couldn't be heard anymore, lost in the background. The imaginary wave crashing sound in his head grew louder, morphing into a small rumble that eventually became a roar in his ears. His mind was swirling and unbeknownst to him, his muscles were tensing and his skin was curling, as if taken over by a massive amount of gooseflesh. But while he didn't sense his physical predicament as he was too taken in his mental ministrations, he did feel the faint prickle and tingle that spread through his nerves like wildfire. It wasn't disagreeable...just plain weird...as if he were wearing a piece of clothing...neither cold nor hot...neither rough nor smooth...just fitting...delicate...espousing his body with perfection. A shriek from Priscilla brutally tore him from his concentration just as he was trying to locate and identify the ethereal feeling that slunk throughout his limbs.

"Harry! You did it! Look, quick! Open yar eyes! Look at yar arms!"

_Huh? Did I do something wrong? Did I fuck up?_

Harry's eyelids snapped open, revealing half-forest green, half-red orbs with slitted pupils, which automatically headed downwards, to bear onto his stiffened limbs. Harry's mouth gaped wide as he beheld the tendrils of black swishing around his arms, like a living garment made of pure darkness...which it indeed was, in all respects. He was weaving shadows all around himself...

_He was Shadowcloaking._

"Bloody hell!" _Bloody, sweet Dracula in Transylvania! I did it!_

Looking closer at his outstretched limbs, he saw that the layer of black seemed like an impenetrable fog and not like a very defined sheet of solid material...it bore a more gaseous-like appearance, wispy...nearly diaphanous at moments...but impossible to pierce with his eyes. The cloak of shadows, as his concentration broke apart from unadulterated shock and chilling realization, faded to naught, leaving his arms bare and a very bewildered and jubilant wizard to gaze at them with wonder.

"I did it," he blurted disbelievingly, twirling his hands around, hoping to catch a glimpse of that shadowy substance but finding nothing, just cold air.

Looking back at his mentor, he saw her widely grinning, ecstatic face. "Yeah! You really did it! Congrats!" she congratulated him, nearly dancing in excitement. "Took me a whole week ta even produce a sliver of it...and ya did it in less than five minutes, on first try, an' loads more than me!" she praised proudly, with a mock look of jealousy, which made Harry laugh. "That's tha' beginnin' but people say that a journey always begin with a single step an' ya just made it with flyin' colors!"

Deeply elated by his success, Harry felt like he had scored a critical point, one that he really needed to have in those darkened times. It was one of those moments of pure, joyful satisfaction that he used to cherish so much at Hogwarts, before everything began to slide down like a boulder tumbling down a steep hill, destroying everything in its path. He had forgotten the feeling, the small-scale exhilaration it gave and the sensation of having his shoulders be less burdened than before. A relief.

"Okay - try it again!" she ordered, and Harry indulged her with one more try. All night long they repeated the drill, with successes and near misses, eliciting a symphony of feelings in Harry's heart. As the hours flew by without much reckoning from the pair, Harry could feel his confidence returning to its former throne in his heart, like a king coming back, at long last, to his forsaken kingdom and mending the ruin his absence had caused.

As he gazed at his body taking on darker shades, Harry couldn't but thinking one thing.

Things were now going for the best.

And for once, that day, he didn't think about Asmodeus and the apprenticeship.

It was only 22:12 and there was plenty of time left to celebrate his feat.

* * *

_**To be continued.**_

* * *

**A/N:**

Bloody, freaking hell! Five chaps! Already! Yuck, something must be wrong with me. Never seen such 'inventiveness' (ahem, ahem) within me, even with HP-ASIT. Oooh, I think this series' gonna be my favorite. BTW, all's blue in my life - blocks are breaking, writing speed is increasing and scenes are dropping in piles in my head. Holy Mary, I think I'm gonna like this... Strange as it sounds, this chap. originally ended with Harry mistaking sugar with salt...but somehow it seemed too short...so, blame me, I doubled the amount of words. ;-)

Okay - let's stop wondering about my smoking marijuana-filled rugs (joke) and down with business. Lotsa questions, eh? Asmodeus has been introduced, story's surfing down Synopsis Lane towards Plot Avenue. Next chap: developments, developments, developments! Or: mind-blasting showers, a fight and a reluctant correspondence. Rats! I said too much... Other topic: no, I haven't read HP & The Maw - just read heard about it but actually never read - one of my friends told me Asmodeus reminded him of one of the series' characters (Dunno his name). For _Petites Sorcières_, no, I never read _Interview with a Vampire_. By the way, in this chap. lady Carmilla Sanguina is one of the famous vampires created by J.K. Rowling for her website and its anniversary calendar. Check out HP Lexicon to discover who she was. For _Skittles-07_, err...Harry's a guy, not a girl - makeup would be overwork, even for a Goth wannabe...but for dark features...well, I have something freaky for him beginning at chap. 13, I think. I already started writing small chapter parts here and there up to number 24, which is his return to Hogwarts. Spoilers, spoilers... Oh, CRITICAL MESSAGE: European university exams are nearing so...updates will be scarce as I'll have to throw an extra effort in my studies to pass this year, which I doubt I'll do, knowing the rate of success in economics. Thirty percent or so.

Sentence of the day:  
**If you want me to continue, read and review**. (cartoon music in the background)

Good lord. That rhymes. Hell must be freezing over.  
Ah...well...until better times and more sober days,

**ABI2301**


	6. Chapter 06: The Letter To The Forgotten

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 06**

**v.01: 04/10/2005**

* * *

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

* * *

**Chapter 06: ****The Letter To The ****Forgotten**

* * *

Harry rose painfully from his bed and immediately felt the weight in his stomach as well as the cumbersome excess of urine in his bladder that begged for release. Grunting in annoyance at his untimely predicament, he trudged towards the bathroom, grousing all the way about early mornings and late nights. Harry was so absorbed by his reminiscing session that his extra sensitive ears didn't pick up the unmistakable sound of running water - a fatal distraction. The young vampire turned the handle of the door and strode inside, only to be rewarded with the sight of a _slightly_ unclothed Priscilla, who was blushing brightly if such a phenomenon was medically possible for a specimen of the vampire species. Harry remained open-mouthed as he realized he was staring, frozen-limbed, at a very luscious-looking Priscilla Dane, covered only with a towel around her body still wet with the shower's water. For the first time in two weeks, Harry cursed his vampiric abilities as his acute eyes registered Priscilla's slender forms and ravishing curves, drilling into his memory every square inch of her alabaster body and eroding his retina with horror-filled ecstasy.

The sound of droplets dripping from the shower could now be heard by the young wizard but even so the raging thumping of his own heart erased any other noise in the background from his mind.

Funny, huh, how could someone snap from sleepy to full awake in a millisecond?

_Good, jolly Dracula...!_

The two statue-like individuals stared at each other, too embarrassed to say anything before Harry, wordlessly - since he was too shocked by what he had seen to find words to say aloud - turned around, staggered outside into the corridor, closed the door and finally leant back on a nearby wall. He slumped down to the floor while vainly trying to decrease the speed of his crazed heartbeat. _Is it legal to have a body like that?_ he wondered, dazed and pondering whether he should be horrified by his encounter or star-struck by his incredible luck at catching such a sight before even breakfast. _She looks a bit like Fleur but then again, I've never seen Fleur after a shower. Is the Wizengamot aware that Great Britain had weapons of mass destruction? Someone must warn the United Nations Security Council before we're all doomed to die of heart attack! _To emphasize his point to himself, he put a shaky hand on his chest, feeling the thundering organ inside wildly dancing the mambo.

Behind him, perched on his room's closet, Hedwig looked at her fallen master through the open door with a curious look. "Hoot?" _Are you okay?_

"Don't worry, Hedwig. I'm alright. For the moment. If she doesn't kill me afterwards," he replied weakly, feeling suddenly the urge to slam his face into the nearest brick wall and repaint it with what remained of his own brains. He remained in that position for a long moment, still rewinding in his mind that image of Priscilla's damp body and shamelessly admiring her lines and her long, blonde hair cascading down her back in a long stream of silky strands. _What would Ron give to be in my stead_, Harry chuckled half-consciously. _Probably his broom if that is possible..._but no, Ron Weasley wouldn't go to that extent. He would just either strangle his friend in jealousy or slap him in the back for having such luck...in both cases, it would end up with a lot of embarrassment for him, the Boy-Who-Lived-But-Gets-A-Hard-On-When-He-Sees-A-Half-Naked-Girl-In-The-Bathroom. _Good lord, even if she's my teacher, she's still a drop-dead gorgeous girl!_ he exclaimed, clenching his fists, slightly furious towards himself to think like that about his host, his surrogate older sister. _Come on, Cilia is just my mentor - stop thinking about that..._he admonished himself. He got back to his feet just in time to see a red-faced Priscilla vacating the bathroom and sprinting towards the kitchen 'to prepare breakfast'.

Harry took advantage of her absence to take a long, cold shower, enjoying the stream of icy water splashing down his body. That drastic treatment to his trance had fortunately the good effect of bringing him back to his senses and restore his frazzled mind into its previous state. After a couple minutes spent in a freezing waterfall, he went out and dried himself off before retreating hastily to his room and getting clothed.

With a deep, apprehension-filled sigh he made his way towards the kitchen, not really paying attention to the many dolls littering the floor - consequently narrowly missing tripping on some of them. "Black hell!" he cursed, nursing his sore foot, then strode into the room, to find Priscilla already eating. She, however, didn't look up when he entered and Harry couldn't tell whether it was because of an excessive amount of awkwardness or if she was just upset with him. Not uttering a single word, he settled himself in his chair and snatched a scone.

The morning ritual proceeded normally save for the lack of conversation between the two. After a moment, Harry felt he couldn't bare any longer the tension between the two.

"Errr...look, this morning," he began uneasily, feeling his guts being squished by an imaginary hand. His face gained on red hues, enough for imaginary bystanders to mistake him with an oversized tomato. At the other side of the table, Priscilla stabbed her eggs with her fork, making Harry wince in dread. _Good lord, not that...not there...I want to have kids some day..._ "Don't ya bring that up," she whispered blankly.

"Sorry."

Stab. Stab. _Stop it..._Harry moaned in the confines of his mind, the picture painfully clear to him and awfully suggestive.

"And quit while ya're ahead with yar excuses."

"Sorry."

Stab. Stab. Stab. _Are vampires really this cruel?_ Harry wondered.

"I said -" she snapped.

"Okay, okay -" Harry cut in before her temper flared to alarming levels. He knew she was a very becoming, kind woman but she, like every person in this world, had her limits. As if he had been clued in by his newfound vampire perceptions, he didn't dare try to push her over the proverbial edge and incur her wrath. 'Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned', some said but they didn't think about the possibility of that individual having sharp fangs as main weapon besides her fingernails and a good foot planted in the groin for good measure. "I - I just wanted to - to say that it won't - happen again," he explained apologetically, hoping for absolution.

Stab...rip. Harry gulped, undecided about her latest treatment towards her food. _If that represents my genitals I'll be singing the Traviata in less than one minute..._

Priscilla grunted, her inarticulate answer eventually likened to a unofficial 'you better or you'll know what it is to have a hole instead of balls'. She ripped once again - not cut - her eggs with her knife before shoving the food in her mouth. Harry returned to his own plate, closing the matter and happy to drop it definitively. He heard his companion muttering something but as he was all too well trying to burrow himself in his promises of repentance he didn't get what she had just spoken under her breath.

"Did you say something?" Harry inquired.

"Hormones," she muttered embarrassedly, finding a curious interest in the boiling water sitting on the stove.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked nervously, afraid he had only too well understood what she had uttered. The prospect of having the truth confirmed, however, bade no good. "Hormones!" she hissed. "Ya know - substances in tha' blood that pour in increasin'ly when ya get older? Tha' whole process is sped up by vampirism, at least when ya're turned in," she explained, still daring not to look at Harry in the eye. "Yar body changes an' adopts a whole new metabolism - which means that yar blood chemistry is changin'. Ya organs like tha' heart, spleen an' other glands are workin' fulltime like a train engine speedin' through tha' countryside...that's one o' tha' reasons why vamps got a growth spurt after they get bitten, why they change in appearance...an' why they act irrationally when they're turned in..."

"How come?" Harry inquired, stunned by the explanation. Sure, he had grown three or four inches after his bite and still showed no sign yet of stopping, but hadn't paid any attention to the phenomenon, as he had been too taken with other subjects, too interesting to pass up. Priscilla shrugged and averted her eyes. "Our body's workin' in overdrive at that moment. Lotsa hormones an' other substances affect our thinkin'. We're assaulted by a plethora of feelin's...fear...uneasiness...aggressiveness for some...exhilaration for others...that's one o' tha' reasons why many o' us, like ya, ran 'way from their world. That's why I didn't blame ya for it - _ya couldn't help it_. Speakin' 'bout yesterday...I just wanted, afterwards, when tha' disproportions in yar blood chemistry would've settled down, ta know whether ya'd really be willin' ta come back ta yar friends or not..."

"Oh, right..." the young wizard said, comprehension dawning on him. Priscilla wasn't also guarded about the whole subject but was also tentatively prodding at his will.

"We wouldn't have made tha' same decisions had we not suffered from that...influence," she continued difficultly. "Our fears an' feelin's...like insecurity...fear o' rejection...are increased tenfold...an' we act rashly for a moment...but tha' agitation falls dawn after a moment...I didn't want ta talk ta ya 'bout it 'cause I didn't want ya ta have any wrong ideas...people are not always ready ta believe their body is malfunctionin' or somethin' like that...so, in a way...I'm glad I actually got tha' opportunity ta tell ya tha' truth."

"Oh," Harry mumbled, feeling his face heat up. _Well, I wouldn't mind being greeted by such a sight in the morning but then I'd have serious heart ailment problems in the future...a vampire is supposed to suck blood not lose in a massive nosebleed._ "Me an' Lizzie had mood swings tha' weeks after our turnin'," Priscilla embarrassedly admitted, closing her eyes. "Gave Modie hell - nearly burnt his eyebrows to tha' bone for a single, misplaced comment. Wasn't very happy with it, tell ya..." she muttered. "Same thin' gonna happen ta ya, young man," she declared, glaring at him warningly. "If ya dare peep on my sister, ya'll be signin' ya death warrant, I guarantee ya!"

Harry gulped nervously and said nothing afterwards. Suffice it to say, Lizzie was rather put out by her two companions' behavior, shooting the pair alternatively worried, suspicious and bewildered glances as the trio ate up their breakfast. Even their sharing blood to begin the day seemed rather awkward. Harry could then hear her mumbling afterwards about weird grownups.

Her new playtime companion, Hedwig, could only hoot in vehement agreement.

* * *

"Bloody hell!" Harry cursed, launching himself on his bed and wanting nothing more than to bury himself under the mattress now that he knew that his behavior would be quite unstable due to his hormones. "I knew I was a teenager but I didn't ask for THIS," he grumbled, pounding his fists on the sheets. _Yeah, but then, I did really appreciate what I saw that morning.._.he thought, before realizing what he was talking about. After a slap or two to kick those mental images out of his mind, he settled himself up on the bed and stared at his owl that blinked in complete confusion at his disturbing actions. "Hoot?" _Are you okay? Got any other bats in your belfry?_

"No comment, Hedwig, no comment," he warned, holding his hand up. _Not unless you want to be served for dinner tonight._ "Hoot." _If you say so..._

Harry looked at his table, desperate to find a distraction to his predicament, fishing through the pile of novels but finding none that could appease his mental turmoil. It was absolutely certain that Priscilla knew how to break one's hyperactivity by uttering a single word but she didn't, in the meantime, make things any easier or sunnier. "_Crime and Punishment_, by Dostoievsky, no thank you, not what I needed," he mumbled. "_In-depth Analysis of the Precepts of the Declaration of Human Rights _- that's for Cilia if she ever decides to give her ideas of murder a further thought..._Rise and Fall of the Roman Empire_ - bugger off, reminds me of Binns. Ugh, sounds like I should have chosen better books than that," he lamented tiredly. He dropped the said items on his nightstand and looked towards the sky. He stared at the clouds for a moment then glanced at Hedwig, who was happily oblivious to his restlessness. As seconds ticked by a project, no, an idea formed in his head.

"Maybe I should keep something - like a diary...no, why bother..." Harry mumbled. "I won't eventually reread it in the future so there's no need for it..." he mused, running a finger on his scar, the feeling of his jagged skin imprinting itself in his hypersensitive nerves. "I need to write...to write..." he trailed off, trying to concentrate and vent off the frustration.

...Just before his eyes widened slightly at what he had just said.

"To write."

_Write to whom? _he blurted out, mocking the whole situation. _It's not like I can enter in contact with either Ron or Hermione - and even less Dumbledore or the Order... _Harry's half-green, half-red eyes glazed over as he burrowed deep in the monstrous stack of memories his mind held prisoner. Yesterday's lively discussion in Priscilla's car came back to consciousness, focusing on certain sentences that had made his heart do somersaults and his soul flinch in remorse.

_Priscilla gazed at him from the corner of her eye. "Well, I think it brings up tha' question I should've asked ya a long while ago: do ya really want ta forget them?"_

He didn't want to think about a subject that had gone increasingly painful for him to discuss...yet it came back unbidden, arising at the slightest opportunity, as if every aspect of his life expected from him an in-depth retrospection...like a ghost of a murdered individual haunting its killer, until justice be finally done.

_Priscilla's shoulders slumped down. "I know it's bad ta judge people if ya don't know what they went through, Harry, but...well...it...it sounds like ya're runnin' away an' I just want ta spare ya tha' trouble or it'll hunt ya forever..." she whispered._

_"Running away, as you said," Harry corrected sheepishly, "may have been the best decision I made so far when it comes to private life and dealing with my existence. Maybe I could have been happier that way, even if I ended up dead in a gutter with a slit throat. I'd have been free and not cooped up in a house, wondering when everything would stop and I'd finally see a bit of sunshine through the clouds."_

_"Don't be overly dramatic," Priscilla sighed, swerving to the right. "But, still...why did ya forget everythin' 'bout them so fast? Yar friends..." she pressed on._

He buried his head in his hands as the memories from yesterday returned full-force, clearer and more accusing than ever. He suddenly felt compassion for those innocents shoved in the box for the accused, before an unmerciful tribunal and forced to hear, powerless, a sentence that would, in the future, bring about many years of excruciating hardship and finely wrought horror. Helplessness. Guilt. Those feelings stormed in his head relentlessly, like ghosts holding him culprit of a crime nobody would ever forgive him for. _Why can't they understand? I HAD to do it! It was the best thing to do_, he wailed inwardly, although only the vacuum of his mind was his only answer, laced with hurting disinterest.

_"But ya remember what Modie said, don't ya?" she frowned disapprovingly. "Ya can't drop them like that, no matter what - ya've still got a commitment towards them. 'Cause nobody could probably do yar job far ya. And someone imperatively needs ta do it, no matter what."_

But how could he come back? How would he be able to help when he would be considered as a kinsman of the enemy, of the ostracized?

Words wouldn't suffice to explain what he had to go through; the hardships, the feelings, the thoughts...a pyramid of sensations which weighed on his mind like Atlas' legendary burden - terrifyingly heavy and impossible to discard for such was his destiny. And, pray tell, how could he convey to anyone from the Order the fact that he had become a vampire without sending them into a frenzy? It was impossible. Hide that from them? It would delay the untimely discovery but it wouldn't render the situation any better - maybe even worsen the current state of things. Harry's correspondence with Hermione or Ron had become sparse over the past month, mere days before he received the dreaded bite. Not only were his friends convinced that he desperately needed some time to think alone and mourn Sirius' passing but security measures imposed by the Order forbade all of them from sending overly informative letters, which could possibly be intercepted and used for malevolent purposes by the Dark Lord.

In other words, how could Harry reenter in contact after keeping silent for so long? He couldn't just send them a letter saying 'hi! how are you?' as if nothing had happened and renew their friendship without giving a few explanations that would entail dire consequences afterwards.

Then there was his resentment at the Order, for not intervening or even lifting a finger to prevent the attack. Harry still felt his anger stirring at the dreadful memories, as the vampire's teeth sank into his flesh, drawing blood in gory fountains and as life slowly and painfully slipped out of his body. He owed Dumbledore nothing for he was responsible for _not_ preventing him from becoming a creature of the dark. He had been entitled to his safety as he had so good-naturedly repeated year after year and had failed in his self-appointed task.

After weighing the cons Harry switched to the pros.

...What about his five, now six, years of friendship with his Hogwarts' friends? He couldn't let them fall like that, without an explanation, as lame or elusive as his eventual excuses could be. They deserved to know as they had bled and suffered with and for him. They had stepped into harm's way so that he could survive his many fights against the dark side and risked their life for a friend. They had accompanied him into the Department of Mysteries - against his will - just out of sheer loyalty, as friends would stick together in evil times. And now, here he was, hiding like a thief and biting his fingers in anxiety, waiting for his erstwhile peers to discover him. That argument alone was enough to sway dramatically his judgment. He needn't think about the Prophecy and all those he had trained in the DA. Abandoned friendship alone was a huge issue for him in this quandary.

As anyone could expect from him, Harry wasn't in a very advantageous situation - one needn't be a rocket scientist to determine that but just have acute eyes and gaze into Harry's and behold the turmoil inside those green irises.

A part of his mind longed to express his feelings while the other screamed to keep quiet, dive instead into his apprenticeship studies and relinquish to the void the remnants of his past life.

And both held enticing tones that tore his soul to shreds. He didn't want to choose his camp for both needed him or called for him. They beckoned him to join their side, alternatively swapping words of reason, of promises and priorities.

_In the end...should I write or not?_ Harry wondered, hoping to conclude the mental struggle. His reluctance to establish contact with his old world had been for the past weeks looting his head of any words that could've justified, in his friends' opinion, his flight from Privet Drive. He didn't know if he would be able to explain everything with utmost clarity without sounding too dramatic. As he roamed around in circles, head hung low and feet shuffling restlessly, his earlier conversation with Priscilla ripped its way into his line of thoughts, dealing the final blow to his troubles.

_"Our body's workin' in overdrive at that moment. Lotsa hormones and other substances affect our thinkin'. We're assaulted by a plethora of feelin's...fear...uneasiness...aggressiveness for some...exhilaration for others...that's one o' tha' reasons why many o' us, like ya, ran 'way from their world. That's why I didn't blame ya for it - ya couldn't help it. Speakin' 'bout yesterday...I just wanted, afterwards, when tha' disproportions in yar blood chemistry would've settled down, ta know whether ya'd really be willin' ta come back ta yar friends or not..."_

Harry stopped in his tracks, completely frozen in place. Slowly, his head turned to the ceiling, revealing wide eyes and a look of consternation.

"So...it's nothing but a question of feelings, huh?" Harry mused, his face contorted in pain at the realization. Everything he had felt so far was nothing but the consequence of a deranged body - a thought that brought no comfort to him, merely a semblance of horror and guilt. "Have I been misled from the beginning?" He slunk into his desk's chair and stroked his temples, trying to clear his mind from the negative opinions that piled themselves on each other, each one more accusatory than the other. _My fears are unfounded...or are they?_ he asked himself, slouching further in his seat.

"Get a grip on yourself, Potter," he told himself, his nails biting his palms. "Cilia might be right but my reasons are acceptable to an extent...then, I guess I won't know whether I was right or not to be scared until I at least try," he concluded grimly.

_Here goes nothing, Harry..._his mind smirked.

Before his brains could disagree with his actions, Harry snatched a sheet of paper from the desk as well as a pen and braced himself for the effort - God knew he would need it. He rolled his sleeves up, like a fighter would prepare himself for a brawl. His Occlumency skills, although still rudimentary, subconsciously kicked up to appease his frazzled soul, separating all unimportant thoughts from the main, relevant ones. He remained seated like that for a moment, hands held together under his chin, eyes closed and breathing shallow. Then, inhaling sharply, he began to write, hoping that his resolution would last enough for him to give reality to his thoughts.

His first or only letter would be to the rational one. Hermione Granger.

And wrote he did. Dozens of lines, all of which sounded more vapid and awkward than the next one. Surprisingly, he couldn't put into words what he had experienced or just what had happened. Deep within himself he knew that he couldn't reveal what had occurred in Magnolia Crescent as it still was a highly sensible subject for him as well as the last thread that linked him to his estranged friends. A bridge that threatened to break down under the slightest pressure. A candle's flame withering in the wind. His flight from the Dursleys and his stay at the Danes household was his reprieve, before the great sundering of three lives - one of which would be doomed forever after the truth would be unveiled for all to behold with horror. One hour and twenty drafts or so later, he still was straining his mind over the subject, letting his pen dance over sheets before snatching the said documents and crumbling them into abused wads frustratingly thrown into the wastebasket, creating a piling mound of unhappiness and remorse - the jagged edges being the outlines of his inner pain. Harry's thoughts wouldn't just come out, as if chained to his mind by a greater will.

"Darn it, let's just write to her like I'd talk to her," he grumbled, a note of desperation at the edge of his voice. As he pictured himself walking guiltily to a sad-eyed Hermione, his pen skimmed over the sheet of paper, weaving a tale he wanted to forget and a heartfelt apology he should have written a long time ago. Uncharacteristically, for once, he opened his heart, drawing its large, darkened and torn doors open, feeling like he at least owed that to Hermione, especially if this indeed was the last time he'd ever converse with her in agreeable terms before she'd get to know his problem. He let his feelings flow through the ink, adorning them with his inner thoughts while keeping away the most important details. Hermione could be a worrywart at moments but he didn't need her to hyperventilate by putting in his message everything that had occurred in the last month.

One hour later, after wracking his brains in order to find the perfect wording and leave no doubt as to his true intentions, Harry wrote his name at the bottom of the sheet, likening himself to a long-time traveler finally come home after a long, tiresome journey through undiscovered lands filled with wonders but also the knowledge of foreignness. Putting the lid back on his pen he leant back and reread his missive.

_Hermione,_

_Yes. It's me. I'm finally talking to you._

Finally_, you'd say, though with no small amount of concern._

_I know I should have written you this letter a long time ago, but the truth was that so many things happened in a short span of time and I couldn't find within myself neither the will nor the ability to put my words on this dreaded sheet of paper. I know, you must be cursing by now, as my aforementioned reasons are no acceptable excuse for my silence and my not sending you a message._

_I know._

_I should have, could have, would have, but in the end...didn't._

_What do I have to say in my defense? Without losing a part of myself in the process? I don't know but I'll give it a try._

_I am not aware of what the Order confided in you but here is my version. Forgive me if I leave a LOT of things out but I have my reasons and believe, Hermione, I do _really _believe that they _are _valuable from my point of view. One day when you'll come to learn the truth be it from my own mouth or from someone else's, you will understand if you don't do anything else first, like slam your 'Hogwarts: A History' in my gums before. Do I sound so creepy? Yes, I am serious. Deathly. And the word's not inappropriate - but don't worry, I am not in danger as I am speaking. Far from it. But I'll get on with my tale if you would please stop ranting about my being careless and insensitive. Yes, Hermione, I know you too well to guess you'd be doing that by the time you'll get to read my first sentences._

_Anyway, here I go._

_Where do I begin a story that is so long to tell? By the beginning, I suppose. No duh, would say Ron. Very well. As you can guess, all began with Sirius' death and its aftermath. You know in what state I left Hogwarts. You heard my silence, you saw my face and you felt my mood. No need to tarry on such thoughts as you already have an idea of how tormented my mind was when I arrived at Privet Drive. Thankfully the Dursleys gave me a lot of space and for once, my chores were cut short, much to Dudley's displeasure as he was ordered for the first time in his life to do some gardening and cleaning up. He nearly died of heart attack the second he heard Aunt Petunia snap those news at him. And they left me alone - I was grateful for the change although it did nothing to quell the nightmares that always came back at night and my memories of Sirius falling through the veil. Do you know what it is to revive such a terrible memory every night, Hermione? I think you should know._

_And understand._

_You should by now perfectly understand why I took the habit of strolling outdoors up to ten o'clock in the evening in an effort to clear my mind. Voldemort was always at my mind's doors, using what felt like oversized battering rams to have a peek inside my spirit. If it wasn't so he kept on feeding me with images I wouldn't dare to depict here. Just know that they were agreeable to behold in the least. Oh no, they weren't - not that it wouldn't be surprising, on a side note. Occlumency didn't help much so I tried to put my mind elsewhere. What better way to do so but to wander off for a night walk?_

_It worked for a while - the night provided me with a sort of soothing I enjoyed while it lasted, though the pain didn't ebb away. It lingered, intensified, dulled and swirling inside me all those weeks. But as you can guess my decision to have a walk in the neighborhood was a new mistake and another curse to add to my ever-growing personal collection. I was attacked. Yes, you read me well. I was indeed attack by some unknown guy who, as soon as he had finished his job disappeared quite strangely. Creepily would be a more appropriate term to designate his departure. As I was left bleeding on the sidewalk, wondering what the hell had just happened, something else occurred. I cannot tell you why or how. The truth is that I don't know and I don't think you'd like to know._

_How would you react to the reality, Hermione? I am left here, in my new room, to wonder about that. Each day and each night I still pass inside my head multiple scenarios of how you and Ron would react to the news. Each time I come up with something bad that would leave me alone in my own world of darkness and left to despair forever and ever with solitude as my only companion. Do I sound too dramatic? Too self-pitying? I should maybe cut the crap but you should at least try to imagine what I felt like the second I realized that I was once again cursed._

_Am I condemned to never find peace? Happiness? A normal life? I'll never know. Maybe not in this lifetime. Anyway, for a lot of reasons I decided to run away. The fact that the Order didn't intervene to rescue me proved that something was amiss. Whether it was originated from Dumbledore's part or my attacker's is still unknown. I'll ponder my theories when I'll have the time. To be short, I was confused. And scared. I realized that I was attracting danger to myself like bees to honey. Like opposite magnets._

_Hermione, listen to me! Calm down! Yes, I know, you're too predictable. CALM DOWN. That's better - no, don't you dare make a comment, I'm not done yet. In less than a minute I had changed. Drastically. Horribly. You wouldn't have recognized me as the evolution was so radical that I could hardly believe I was facing myself. By the end of the night, Harry Potter had died on Magnolia Crescent, in a puddle of blood. What left the scene sixty seconds later however, was a nameless teenager running for his life. To find a chance to truly exist and grasp the reins of his own life. Hermione, you know how horrible my past had been. I do not want your pity but don't you think that that was enough? The last straw? The droplet that makes the jug overflow? That's what pushed me over the edge. I had become a danger, figuratively and literally. Don't ask me why or to clarify that last sentence - just know that it is true. If you knew the truth you'd understand._

_I repeat, you WOULD understand._

_But would you ACCEPT it?_

_As much as I can predict your moments of concern and passion for new information, Hermione, this time I cannot tell._

_Not at all._

_Because the truth would hurt._

_I have changed over that last year, haven't I? Don't deny it, Hermione, it's true. I was insulted, hurt, slandered and kept in the dark like a mere tool to be used and discarded afterwards after its use had ceased to exist. No, I'm not overly self-piteous. I'm objective. There are still a lot of things you should know such as...no, I'll tell you if I ever have the chance to and the guarantee you won't snap or be too shocked beyond words to ensure my own safety afterwards. What? Am I to be blamed for something? Maybe, maybe not. But that's not what I'm fearing. What I am not looking forward to is telling you the truth._

_The truth: something so precious, so fragile yet so dangerous, blunt and hard once it isn't used the correct way._

_Or is hidden away from those whom it belongs to._

_Like you, my friend. I am deeply sorry for my horrid attitude last year. I shunned you away because I was selfish and forgot about you having your own problems to cope with. I apologize even though I know it will never be enough. There - I said it. I thought it would have been more difficult to put on the paper but it is here, at least. I'm sorry. Will I ever see you again? Maybe - the day I'll find enough Gryffindor courage to meet you and show you what happened. The second you'll see me you will see the naked truth in all its horrible glory. That's a lame expression, I know, but that's what it truly is. I've had the chance to think (for once, oh ye great legendary bookworm of Gryffindor, scourge of libraries and demon of bookshops) a lot about my predicaments and I cannot but agree to that statement. As for books, well, miss, you will at least be delighted to learn that I now spend more time moving them around than staring off in space. But I'm afraid you're not the one who had the incommensurable honor (cough, cough) to convert me to reading fine pieces of literature. The person who took me in was someone who was suffering from the same...social ailment. Or physical. I'm not going to tell. Pick up the clues and work the mystery out. She gave me a home and a purpose. One I'm truly looking forward to fulfill even though my adventure in this word will not end with that said fulfillment. And I'm happy about it. So there you are - you now have a reason not to worry about my arrangements. I have a bed, of which I change the sheets every week, I've got clothes and I even have a job! Yeah - no, don't you faint on me, Hermione, I'm not finished yet! Not yet. The truth is still left to be unveiled...but I think it's your turn now, just like in chess (Ron would be crying hot tears if he were to know that I would actually include his second passion in a letter as a metaphor pertaining to the games of life we play). I made my move. Now it's yours to make._

_The only thing I can tell you, Hermione, is that...whatever happened that night...when I disappeared from your lives and so shamelessly abandoned your friendship, something extremely basic in my world changed. My own self. My being. My body. My mind. That should be enough of a clue for you to try to guess the truth. With a little bit of luck and your trademark astuteness you should be able to rebuild the past to its former self and understand what was inflicted upon me._

_The last thing I can say to clue you in is that now my nights seem brighter than my days._

_May understand and forgive me those who truly can._

_I'll be waiting for you should you decide to remain my friend, which I fervently hope so._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-But-Isn't-There-Anymore_

Harry reread twice his letter and sighed, relieved at the completion of his handiwork. As he had stated, it would now be Hermione's turn to make her move.

Reclining on his desk's chair, he took advantage of his position to make some of his muscles crack to dissipate the stress that was conglomerating in his body. He didn't know that admitting such secrets while giving up such a large portion of his soul for others' sakes could be so devastating spiritually. Although he could feel the burden on his shoulders lessening by his recent admissions, the fear within still resided unscathed. Dropping his pen on his lap he lost himself in the contemplation of the ceiling, wondering what Hermione's reaction would be.

Would she cry?

Would she be happy?

What would she do after reading his letter?

The prospect of having her reject him was one of his worst fears; it was primarily the reason why he left Privet Drive, along with the ravaging knowledge that he was a potential danger to his friends. Remembering how the smell of blood had turned him on and nearly dismissed the last layer of self-control in his being had definitively sealed his decision. Two minutes later he was gone from his childhood house and bound for a new destiny. He felt like hunted - tracked down by unseen enemies that scourged his surroundings relentlessly, ruthlessly. He seemed to be a prey chased by horrors that wouldn't give him up. He needed a shelter that could protect him from whatever woe would betide him should he breathe in the open. The fact that his mutation wasn't even the effect of Voldemort's direct attacks had shown the sixteen-year old wizard how vulnerable he was against those attempts to his life. And if he was that weak and powerless then his friends wouldn't fare any better.

And in conclusion, remaining among them would only attract other blows from Fate, something he couldn't afford. Was it then so surprising that he took off for an unknown and yet undecided location? Could anyone blame him for desiring everyone's safety? If not, then where, when and how had he sinned?

Harry leant over his desk and grabbed the paper, dropping it in a small envelope that he sealed with the tip of his wand. On the recto he wrote, _For Hermione Granger, personal and confidential. To be opened away from prying eyes, in a secure location and imperatively kept away from certain unwanted readers' reach. _He judged Hermione to be the next best person to talk to as Ron, because of his pureblood roots, would probably jump more easily to prejudices and biased opinions. He had accepted Remus readily but vampires were considered far worse a threat compared to those suffering from lycanthropy. Wizarding rumors, hearsays and legends only added to the horrors woven around that community. Hermione, as a Muggleborn, would react more reasonably but probably not without a certain amount of fear. _Hell_, Harry thought, _she might even be interested in discovering and learning about certain aspects of the vampire society!_

Hedwig was dozing in a corner, obviously still tired by her playing with Lizzie, a moment the owl did appreciate but put a strain on her physical resistance. Harry hesitated for a moment then patted the animal's back, guiltily rousing her from her well-deserved sleep. She blinked as only owls could do and hooted softly, as if scolding him for the unwelcome disturbance. "Sorry," Harry apologized then showed her the letter - a sight that made Hedwig's eyes widen in newfound delight. She ruffled her wings noisily, obviously in joyful anticipation, as she hadn't had any missives to carry away for a whole month and had grown quite tired from the lengthened period of inactivity. Her nighttime hunts were enough to keep her busy but insufficient in her unspoken (or more exactly, un-_hoot_ed) opinion. Of course, Lizzie was always there to lend a helping hand to make boredom ebb away.

"Send this to Hermione, 'kay? Try to give this to her when she's alone," he whispered, a note of urgency reaching towards the owl, who nodded slowly, yellow eyes glittering happily. "Then come back before anyone can see and seize you," he instructed. Hedwig acquiesced once more then hopped towards the open window, before taking flight. Harry remained at the windowsill, gazing at the white speck that soon disappeared in the horizon, flying towards its destiny. The young wizard sighed resignedly then returned to his bed, a mixed sense of foreboding drowning his head. His fate was no longer in his hands and all he could do for the moment was wait for a new development. Hopefully he wouldn't have to wait two weeks before tidings came back to him with an appraisal of the situation, be it negative or positive. He then wondered why no owls had ever come to him so far...hadn't they been able to find him? McGonagall and Flitwick had stated that a lot of efforts were thrown in by the ministry in order to locate the Boy-Who-Lived but none had ever succeeded in their quest. Yet. A piece of news that had brought many questions to Harry, all of which had been whisked away from his mind with the introduction of Asmodeus in his life and the fight in Diagon Alley.

Speaking of which...

"Cilia?" Harry called, forgetting about the morning incident and the embarrassment gleefully lingering between them. The female vampire stuck her head out of her room and replied, "yeah, Harry? Somethin' up?"

"I just have a question," he answered, striding over to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of mineral water. Priscilla followed him suit and the two sat themselves at the table. "Were there any activities from the Dark Side in the past few months?" he inquired, wondering how the hell he could have forgotten about that. Sure, becoming a creature of the night diverted one's attention off one's environment but such a distraction was unforgivable, knowing that the said individual was about to re-forge his damaged links with his former society. Priscilla frowned and thought for a moment, scanning through her memories. "Nah, now that ya mention it, there weren't any unusual news from tha' wand-wavers... The elders are growin' restless but apart from that, there have been one or two cases durin' this month. People turnin' out dead in tha' middle o' their house without any sign o' aggression or wound...rings any bells?" she proposed with a rueful smile. Harry's eyebrow rose at that. "Restless?"

"Ya - ya know there's a ceremony called tha' Night of Walpurgis, right? This year's commemoration was postponed by tha' elders - riled up quite a number o' conservationists who wanted hard like rock that tha' event would be carried out as normal but tha' council wouldn't hear any o' it," she explained, drumming her fingers on the table pensively. "Modie told me there were quite a few catfights in tha' council - not tha' core, but their underlin's. Mind ya, 'tis not quite unusual - what we call tha' 'lesser' elders love ta spar with each other when they stumble upon a disagreement - tha' 'greater' elders seldom do. Some say it's tha' traditional way ta work out their differences but we know better. They're fightin' for somethin' else."

"What for?" Harry questioned, genuinely interested. "Search me," replied Priscilla, shrugging with an odd sense of elegance. "Never made any sense quite lately, those 'lesser' elders, but they always turned out ta have made tha' good decisions. Some o' them are three hundred years old, so I guess they know their shit like nobody else. But if they came ta throwin' bats ta each other, I guess they were debatin' over somethin' that divided them." Harry nodded in understanding although he couldn't help but feel a strange deluge of foreboding, a feeling he was quite used by now, with all those recurring nightmares of a burning forest falling into ruin. "By tha' way, don't forget ya have trainin' with Modie tonight. He'll just show ya his house so ya'll come back in less than two hours - after that we'll go street-huntin'," she informed him. Harry smiled at the prospect of a new night of wandering around Little Whinging. He had grown to relish those moments as they kept his mind off his worries and looked greatly forward to walking with Priscilla through Little Disraeli Avenue and South Borough Lane.

"Excellent," he exclaimed, his face breaking into a grin. Priscilla smirked at him. "Yar pleasure will be double tha' second ya come back from Modie's, fang-boy. Remind yerself that," she warned before heading back towards her room. Harry followed her with his eyes for a moment then shook his head. "How does she do to break one's mood that rapidly? I swear, she must have a dozen lifetimes' experience," he groaned.

The remainder of the day passed without any noticeable incident.

* * *

When the Portkey dumped him inside Asmodeus' house he was greeted with the sight of a lavishly decorated room. By looking at the carvings on the walls and the paintings plastered on the ceiling, Harry could determine that the architecture belonged to the Elizabethan era. Glancing around, he realized that he was standing inside a large hall whose walls were covered with countless escutcheons and frames. Dusting himself off, Harry took the time to examine his surroundings, wondering how the hell that man could have afforded himself artworks from Turner and even Boticelli, judging from the paintings that hung around. "Guess this guy has a thing for this past," he assessed, straightening himself up to work on his decentness.

"The past is the basis for the present and the mother of future," replied a voice coming from nowhere. Harry jumped at the sudden intrusion in his thoughts and spun around, disturbed to still not see his new master in sight. Calming himself, he took his time to reply. "And those who don't know their history are forever condemned to repeat it, right?"

"Aaaah. Santayana - excellent quote, whose relevance should be obvious," came the rumbling voice of Asmodeus Latifas, whose body suddenly materialized in a plush divan five meters in front of a fazed Harry Potter. "Mankind and other creatures gifted with consciousness and intelligence have always been battling themselves for countless eons and have never learnt to leave each other in peace. They must always find a reason to destroy their happiness and ruin their civilizations to dust. Just look at the two World Wars," explained the vampire with a scowl, critically fingering his ponytail. "That Von Clausewitz general said that 'war was nothing but the continuation of politics by other means' but he forgot to say that it was also Man's undoubtedly favorite pastime. To destroy everything that passes between his hands and to savor the feel of almightiness that simple act procures him. To destroy the work of the Creator. I guess that if you can undo what was done you might feel the need to liken yourself to a higher being, although that is nothing but a shameful delusion."

"Aren't you a bit pessimistic?" chided Harry, regretting already his sentence as he saw Asmodeus curling his lips and letting slip through his gritted teeth an annoyed snarl. "There is a great advantage in being pessimistic: when there are bad news, you aren't negatively surprised. When there are good ones, your pleasure is doubled," he hissed, jaws grinding against each other. _As if that guy ever felt pleasure,_ Harry groused inwardly. "Enough with this chitchat - down with business," he snapped, rising from the divan. He began walking in circles - Harry guessed that was where Priscilla took that habit of hers - and eyed his new apprentice sternly, rubbing a clawed finger over his stubble-covered chin. "You are here to learn the ways of the fighter. I guess that Cilia briefed you on the differences between a Nightstalker and a Nightslasher, didn't she?" he asked, before continuing, not waiting for Harry to confirm or infirm. "Nightslashers are the elite of the vampire community. Most of us picture them as great shadows looming in the darkness, watching the world go through its pathetic life and suffer from its diseases over time and again. We are sworn to secrecy because of our critical commitments. We are the Watchers, the Sentinels, as the Elders call us. Vigilantes. You will learn how to fight and better that weakened physique of yours. From what I gather you were as thin as a matchstick when Cilia took you in," he grumbled, shooting a glare towards an indignant Harry who felt a lot like disagreeing with that particular statement.

"Despite what people who prize intelligence over brute force say, the weak always fall first. You wouldn't last a fleeting second against a full-fledged vampire who knows how to use his claws in close combat," he pointed out with a look that clearly said 'don't you dare contradict me or I'll tap-dance on what remains of your privates'. "In other worlds, to quote Darwin and his views on natural laws, it all comes down to the legendary 'survival of the fittest'. My training program will be divided in three equally important parts," he clarified, stopping in his walking to look at a window, gazing directly at the waxing moon. Obviously he didn't favor beating around the bush but Harry sensed that he liked playing around with his preys, like a cat would paw at captured mice before devouring them. "First one is magic. Defensive and offensive spells. Hexes, curses, charms and jinxes. Basic Auror training. Second is physical workout - I'll make you climb hills and small cliffs, run miles and swim lakes to harden that muscle-lacking body of yours," he declared, pointing a gnarled finger at the now uneasy wizard. "Third is the Nightslasher apprenticeship. You will become of one the night's most feared creatures," Asmodeus concluded, his harsh voice dropping to a scary whisper as he strode towards his new student, leaning forward to emphasize his point. "You will become the perfect predator. A monster waiting to rip the bowels out of its prey and scatter them to the four winds...but even though you'll never be employed - as I suppose you won't want to - by the council, you will still have to pledge fealty to a couple of principles," he growled.

"Nightslashers don't kill for nothing. They don't rape or rob for fun - for those are unnamable _crimes_. Nightslashers _enforce_ justice despite how little the wizarding folk think of us. Consider it as 'honor among thieves' or whatever expression the world has come up with to designate such an endeavor. We do not use our powers to show off or for our private purposes. Only to save our kind and make this rotten world better than it is, even though it is a doomed task most rational people like me would scoff at. And even though you haven't sworn yours oaths yet you have already made an infraction to the rules - do you want to know why?" he hissed, his grin widening sinisterly. Harry shivered despite his will to control himself and shook his head negatively. "I don't know."

"Because you ran away from your duties, despite what you thought would be the good thing to do," Asmodeus snarled, nearly shoving his face in Harry. "Didn't you know that although we take no pleasure in our work we still have to fulfill our job because there's no one else to do it? Because if we were to fail our expectations people we care for would DIE?" he half-bellowed. Harry could see that despite his rising voice Asmodeus was composed and not really angry. In control. He supposed that it was his way to drill some information inside other people's head. Impress or intimidate them. Swipe away their excuses and show them their errors - force them to fix the messes they provoked. "That's why I am so unforgiving towards you. Yes, I saw your face when I was snapping at you. Your cowardice will not make me go easy on you. I won't be as lenient on your behalf like I was with Cilia," he concluded fiercely, his scowl deepening to continental proportions. "That's why you will have to first earn my trust and my respect before benefiting from my...benevolence. The hard way. You'll have to bleed profusely and suffer in the process. Like everyone who takes this path, this long hard road that so few tread nowadays. But your price will be greater to pay not because of _what_ you are but _who_ you are and _what you did_."

He spun around leaving a stunned and ashamed Harry behind him, striding towards great oaken doors at the end of the hall. Hearing that his new apprentice wasn't following him, Asmodeus turned his head and snarled a, "follow me and stop dillydallying!" that ruptured Harry's fevered line of thoughts. The younger wizard meekly followed the older, passing through scores of corridors before ending up in a great, naked-walled chamber lit by enormous chandeliers that were suspended in midair by enchantments, just like at Hogwarts.

Asmodeus stopped in his tracks and twirled around to face Harry. The young wizard now reflected on how his master's glare was as unforgiving as the kiss of an artillery shell met head-on. "This is the training room. Its former occupants of the sixteenth century used it to spar with rapiers and other swords but I believe I've found a better use for it," he smirked.

"What we are going to do first is an evaluation of how talented...or lucky...you are," he declared seriously, his eyes turning to the color of freshly shed blood.

"What?" Harry blurted, certain that his ears had painfully betrayed his brains.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Potter! I'm no recording machine and it is in your best interest not only to listen to me but also not to question my directions! You are an apprentice, not a kindergarten brat partaking in trivial activities!" Asmodeus snapped angrily, pointing his wand at a recoiling Harry. "Ready yourself and prepare for chaos," he instructed. "I want you to give everything you have deep within you, all the spells you've learnt. Use the lessons you've gained through your duels and fight. If you hold back I will not only be VERY disappointed in you but also INSULTED, Potter, so the best for you is to fight me like you would a Death Eater. Show me the anger and resentment you're feeling for me!" he snarled.

Harry's eyes narrowed at the harsh tone his teacher had adopted and settled himself into a fighting stance - one foot behind the other so as to reduce body profile, and wand at the ready. His gaze locked onto that of his master and both shared a look that promised a lot of problems for each other, but different in nature. Asmodeus imitated Harry and readied himself, unceremoniously dropping his cloak onto the floor and prepping his own body. "Ready?" he snapped. Harry nodded, a mere millisecond before Asmodeus shouted, "then let's begin!"

As soon as the sound died on his lips a purple beam was streaming towards the young vampire, who easily ducked out of the way, only to discover that his opponent had figured out his move. He skipped aside, this time narrowly avoiding a Chest-Crushing Curse before having to jump to his left so as to not be hit by a Shredding Hex. As the spells grew more numerous and each time increasingly vicious, Harry realized he was now only on the defensive and didn't have enough time to counterstrike appropriately. In order to cast a jinx or a simple curse that would make Asmodeus' concentration waver for a moment and therefore provide a moment of advantageous latency, he needed to have a clear view of his opponent. Which wasn't quite possible at the moment as he was busy dodging rays of multicolored energy that seemed bent on making him perform a rather ridiculous dance. Eye contact with Asmodeus was scarce and therefore he couldn't have a good aim at his opponent - and the amount of concentration crucial for an eventual counterattack was all spent on his avoiding his master's assault.

In other words, he couldn't go on the offensive.

As Ron would have more explicitly said, he was screwed.

"Aaargh!" he screamed as a lightning bolt entered in contact with his shin, the shock making him spin around and loose his fragile equilibrium. He slammed painfully onto the rug-covered ground, nearly chipping his teeth. The proverbial stars were starting to fill his vision when a second spell hit him - excruciatingly - in the hip, eliciting another scream from him. "STOP IT!" he shouted, enraged by his teacher's unfairness. Asmodeus had been completely ruthless, not letting him a single moment of respite and too few openings in his attacks for an eventual shot. Had he had enough wits gathered at that second to compare his current situation with that of the Department of Mysteries last year, he could have told that the Death Eaters weren't that vicious, even though Asmodeus still had yet to use Unforgivables or dark spells to show his true efficiency in battle.

"What were you thinking of?" Harry bellowed, growing infuriated at Asmodeus' cold stare, which bore into him like antitank missiles ruthlessly zooming onto their target. The other wizard began walking lazily, fingering his wand as if resuming a casual walk in a public park. "Fighting you, Potter. That was the purpose of this duel, in case you're suffering from early Alzheimer illness," he smirked, his fangs glinting malevolently in accord to the flickering candlelight.

"You looked more like wanting to kill me with your bloody spells!" Harry retorted angrily, his face contorted into a hate-filled scowl.

"I don't who was the Muggle who said this - probably Napoleon - but 'drills are bloodless wars and wars are bloody drills', Potter. That is all the point of Nightslasher training. Imprinting in you the _simulacrum of a true fight to death_ in order to prepare you for _reality_. Why do you think school exists? It is the point of transition between the statuses of novice and of professional, of mastery. If you don't learn what a TRUE duel is, you will never learn how to be a genuine Nightslasher. We don't go soft on our trainees. Never. Why? Because those who let themselves sink into a feeling of comfort, of brief relaxation are those who will one day make the one _faux pas_ in battle people would and should never do that will send their souls to the devil. The dirtier the initiation, the more efficient the apprentice gets."

"You didn't even let me the chance to defend myself!" Harry shot back. "You sodding kept on attacking me!"

"Potter, offence and defense are the two sides of the same coin," Asmodeus raged. "Most of the light wizards in their 'glorious' complacency and arrogance to remain 'untainted' lower their chances of survival by just using magical shields, disarming spells and bloody stunners! They do not have the balls to actually jump into the fray and instead of simply retaliating take some _initiative_ and actually ATTACK. Have you never heard of the saying, 'the best defense is a good offense?' Yes? Then slam that inside those squished brains of yours and chant it to yourself when you're facing a dark wizard, Potter, because THEY won't be lenient when you'll have to face them in battle. They won't cry 'foul! Take that back!' or 'hey, that's unfair, I want a rematch!' in the middle of a duel. Get dirty. Use the Unforgivables if you must as long as it saves your ungrateful neck!" he snapped. "Why do you think there were so much deaths during that weakling Voldemort's first arising? Because your average wizard was so _afraid_ of using dark curses or send a simple _cutting hex _at the Death Eaters and was unable to appropriately _fight back_! In the end they believed they were overpowered because they didn't know all the defenses against the Dark Arts. And again, why? Because knowing them implied actually LEARNING the Dark Arts! And they were oh so scared of _becoming dark_ that they stayed adamantly _away_ from that field of magic and nourished their belief that Death Eaters were unquestionably SUPERIOR. Do you hear that, Potter? They were DEAD even before FIGHTING! Because they _gave up beforehand_!"

"But aren't the Dark Arts rumored to entrance those who learn them?" shot back a perplexed Harry, still sprawled on the ground. He wasn't about to let himself get enticed by those malignant fields of magicks despite what his trainer requested of him.

"Ah, the two-cent question. Wondered when you'd finally come up with it, lad," the vampire grumbled resentfully. "Yes and no. It depends on WHY you want to learn the Dark Arts. If you want to use it in order to become powerful and get revenge, then you'd unconsciously open your mind to the taunts the Dark Side offers. If you endeavor to use Dark magic just to spread justice around you then the effects will be too insignificant to take note of. A mosquito's bite on your backside: scratches a lot but doesn't bother you in the long term. You get used to it."

"And is it right to use the Dark Arts, ethically speaking?" Harry still questioned, not believing he should sink to the level of those who had killed his family, classmate and godfather.

"Get all those wads of earwax out of your ears, Potter! It's a matter of LIFE and DEATH. Ethics _do not count_ in this equation! When a hungry lioness runs after an antelope, she doesn't stop to ponder the ethics behind her actions, no matter how less intelligent she is compared to human beings! She just rips her prey apart so as to LIVE! THAT is what animals and humans beings strive for - the ultimate goal of evolution - the perpetuation of life!" Asmodeus shouted exasperatedly. "And to my standards, you would be an utterly pathetic lowlife that wouldn't even last _a millisecond _through time! Your performance was pityingly _disastrous_! Now let's begin anew and I want you to give off all the rage you can muster! Throw in your spells your hate, your resentment, your anger, your most unhappy memories! I. DON'T. CARE. Just fight me!" he roared.

Harry snarled impatiently and got back to his feet, not bother to swat away from his clothes the wisps of dust his garments had collected. He was incensed by the Nightslasher's heartless attitude and his views but couldn't find an appropriate comeback to refute his statements - and that helplessness, in essence, was what made him most angry. Unbeknownst to his focused conscience, his body started blurring, fading into shadow - something that did not go unnoticed by Asmodeus, who smirked thinly in response. "That's better, Potter. Ready? Three, two, one - fight!"

This time Harry, as Asmodeus had instructed him, didn't wait for his opponent's wand to spout out a river of fire - he rapidly cast a Head-Bashing Hex before stepping aside, all while keeping his eyes on the tall, slender figure in front of him. The trick, he surmised, was to not let himself get surprised by an incoming attack and therefore let his guard down and neglect his offensive strategy. Getting on the defensive was what like the Muggle called a 'mobility kill'. By crippling an enemy vehicle into place one would rob its target from its ability to correctly fight and therefore lead assaults. Merely defend oneself.

Keeping on randomly jumping left and right, he swished, slashed and jabbed his wand forwards, hurling hexes, jinxes, curses and even charms onto Asmodeus, who deftly countered each of them while sending off his own spells. The air grew thick with rays of blue, red, yellow and white light and the room echoed with whizzing, rushing, shrieking and gonging sounds as spells were cast and crushed against conjured shields, causing them to rebound onto either the caster or unfortunate pieces of furniture - fortunately none of them were valuable otherwise Harry would have had to incur Asmodeus' wrath because of a ruined Thomas Gainsborough, a cleft asunder William Blake or a splintered Thomas Spencer.

Finally Asmodeus sent a purple spell in Harry's direction, which the aforementioned wizard stopped with an advanced shield he had rehearsed last year with the DA. The light emanating from the projection of magic nevertheless forced him to look away, as they hurt his retina and made him lose visibility. His earlier satisfaction at seeing the bolt freeze into place, however, was short-lived as Asmodeus cast a second curse, which tore through the protection wall and hit him in the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. He was sent soaring through the air and hurled into a rickety divan, which broke in two at the sudden collision, in an explosion of dust.

"Ooof..." Harry gasped, whizzing and panting heavily. Then a red light filled his vision and he knew no more.

* * *

He jerked awake two seconds later and found himself gazing at an enchanted ceiling. His head was spinning but otherwise he felt alright, despite a sharp stab of pain lingering around his left breast, as if someone had punched him there. Sitting upright to get his bearings his eyes met those of one Asmodeus Latifas, smirking at him with a rather satisfied expression. "THAT was better, Potter. Though your last action was completely preposterous," he sneered.

"Well, I didn't know what you were throwing me, so I was caught off-guard. Big deal," he muttered before getting back on his feet, wobbling somewhat.

"In a duel, you MUST be familiar with curses. Refer to our earlier conversation if you're too distraught to think it over," Asmodeus snapped testily. "Now, on another topic, I drew some early conclusions about your fighting style," he continued, beginning to pace in restless circles, hands clasped behind his back. "You have a good aim and overall excellent reflexes though your reaction time could be better. With experience it'll hopefully evolve in a good direction give time to refine your fighting and dodging skills. Speed - well, no real comment. Perfect for the moment. But your choice of spells..." he hissed, eyes brimming with unrestrained disdain.

"What about them?" spat Harry.

"Temper, Potter. Temper," his master admonished, baring his teeth in a wicked smile. "To answer your question, you would be, by vampire standards, a lightweight. You gave nothing but minor spells that could indeed tilt the balance of power in a duel but those aren't really harmful. If I were to judge this...spar, I'd label it as 'mere petting', no salacious pun intended," he grunted. "Stunners, shearing and hilarity hexes, leg-locking and full-body bind jinxes...even Aurors can give better than that and last longer, if not returning victorious from a run-in with seasoned dark wizards. But as for _you_, you still cling to that belief that using more...serious spells would make you a servant of the dark, a fear I belied not even two minutes ago. As the minions of the Dark Lord will undoubtedly use more powerful curses that would have emphatically more grievous consequences, you'd be at a sore disadvantage, were you to face some of those fell individuals," he glared, showing his contempt for his apprentice.

"In the Ministry of Magic we still managed to fend senior Death Eaters with Stunners and those 'petty spells' as you'd name them!" Harry shouted, ignoring Asmodeus' earlier remark about his self-control. "So why not continue using them if they served us well?" he argued.

"Really?" Asmodeus questioned, contempt dripping from his mocking, dulcet tones. "Fended off...granted...but _vanquished_? On _your own_?" he asked, his smirk adopting astronomical proportions. _I swear, if he doesn't stop smirking like that, I'll make him eat living puffskeins with his bloody ponytail served in his own blood - and he'll have to bring his own tin of salt!_

"No," Harry begrudgingly admitted. "The Order came to our rescue a little bit after..." he breathed, feeling the pain of Sirius' passing returning back with the power of a blooming supernova. Asmodeus' jaws clenched tightly and the corners of his mouth whitened instantly. His eyes seemed to burn with an inner inferno and Harry could see the other vampire beginning to Shadowcloak inadvertently. "The Order...of the Phoenix?" he ground, his appearance likened to that of someone suffering from severe apoplexy._ Jeez, if he keeps on whitening like that I'll be prone to mistake him as a king size asparagus!_

"Yeah..." Harry confirmed, a little put off by his teacher's reaction. _What's up with him, now?_ "Cilia and I must have forgotten to tell you yesterday," he trailed off as Asmodeus swore loudly and resumed his furious pacing in circles. He could hear the Nightslasher muttering angrily under his breath, shaking his head with barely held down agitation. _I guess the Order and him aren't on sufficiently good terms to play Monopoly on weekends in Hogsmeade..._Harry thought, wary of the older creature's antics.

"Bloody, goat-sucking scallywags of an..." he began, letting loose a seemingly endless string of imprecations that would make a seasoned sailor blush with uttermost shame. Harry's eyes widened greatly at the wording, not believing that English actually housed such terms of profanity. _Is it English, Zulu, Mandarin or Spanish? I can't tell...and HE has the gall to admonish me by saying 'temper, Potter!' What the heck?_ Finally Asmodeus' head snapped back to Harry's face, teeth fully elongated. The young wizard could have sworn that he had seen froth gathering at the edges of the Nightslasher's lips, making him fear for his safety. _I really don't want to die as a pizza in some vampire's stomach...I wonder if he's a cannibal or if he just sticks to draining his prey of his blood?_

"Back to business, Potter! Anyway, your spells were too kind for my taste. As I said, you need to get downright dirty - next week we'll begin with learning Auror-level curses and counter-curses, as well as basic healing lessons, in case you'll need to stitch yourself up. I'll provide the band-aid while you bring the Mercurochrome..." he sneered, making Harry gag at the feeble attempt at humor. "Other than that, the other aspects of dueling will be covered by your physical education I'll be tutoring you in. Since you're obviously above my expectancies in certain sectors," he added quite unwillingly, "it'll leave us with more free time than in my normal curriculum - which means that we can focus more on vampiric combat abilities." That last statement perked Harry's attention up to its fullest, as if someone had playfully stroked his backside with a soldering iron. The Shadowblending technique was already something that had awed him much and he couldn't wait to see more of a vampire's life aspects.

Asmodeus fell silent and conjured a chair with a flick of his wand. He sat himself in it and rubbed his stubble-laden chin, his piercing eyes lingering on Harry's stiff figure. "As for theory I'll lend you some books I expect to be returned in a perfect condition as some of them are quite old and valuable," he warned, his scowl deepening. "Most notably that _Art of War, Art of Spar_ book by Aeris Solsteine, one of the greatest Nightslashers ever to live. Pity he had to impale himself with a knife in his kitchen..." he mumbled absently, fingering a small ornamental knife hidden in his sleeve. "We'll cut his night...short, since it is the first one but I'll double the sessions' length next week so that you'll be able to rake in as much information as possible in the smallest amount of time. I'll expect from you, each time I'll give you a book, a summary on what you had to learn and your thoughts on how to use the studied subject."

"And do I have time for it?" Harry sighed. "With my work at Cilia's..." he began.

"Wouldn't you like to know...ever heard of a time-turner?" Asmodeus interjected with a smug expression, fishing in his pocket. Harry automatically grew worried as he knew how risky that magical contraption could be. Speaking from experience in third year, everything one did in the past could have a lot of repercussions in the future, an endless loop that could throw most scholars in never-ending discussions about relativity themes. Even what one would then hold as the present could be drastically modified. After all, wizards and witches had already died at the hands of their future selves as they inadvertently met each other in the 'past'. Seeing each other as if in a dream or a nightmare would be a fatal blow to sanity...after all, in the wizarding world existed what were called the _doppelgangers..._ghostly twins of yourself that were in fact harbingers of doom...said to warn you of your incoming death.

Bad omens, like the much-feared, legendary Grim.

"Yeah, I already used one in fourth year to bail my godfather out of imprisonment," Harry admitted, making Asmodeus raise an eyebrow, either slightly surprised or impressed by the confession. "But isn't that potentially dangerous?"

"Not at all," he snapped. We're vampires. Vampires live eternally. Time, unless of course you're murdered or caught in a fatal accident in the meantime, doesn't matter to us, People of the Dark. We don't age...unless, of course, puberty hasn't been reached yet...which, in your case, is a process nearly done with. At that fateful moment our cells do not answer to Time anymore. They stop their slow degradation and remain like that...just living eternally till the hiccups of Fate decided whether we should exist forevermore or meet our destiny at the hands of a stupid accident or assassination. On another hand, if already aged people are turned in, they just stop aging. They look like they previously were the second they became our...peers, except for some facial and hair changes, of course. Period," he explained. He fingered the hourglass-shaped item, surrounded by annulets that spun around when activated. _That wasn't what I was talking about but...ah, doesn't matter, anyway_, Harry sighed.

"That way you'll be able to spend more time for your apprenticeship. We'll do these training sessions in two phases. First you will work out outside," Asmodeus instructed, nodding towards the door. "Then, when your muscles will be warmed up sufficiently we'll come back here and either duel, study about spells, dark creatures, rules of engagements...it'll depend on the curriculum you'll chose. After all, as I told you," he continued, his brows scrunching, "you'll have to return to the wizarding world and I don't know whether you'll want to still have anything to do with them when you'll be done with that task of yours - namely 'whooping' Voldemort's ass. Either pledge fealty to the Council of Elders or just retire as a Nightstalker and remain with Cilia at the bookshop till she finally realize that wish of hers to become a nurse or a doctor."

"I'll think about it," Harry muttered resentfully. "Though...I've got one question...I didn't realize it earlier, but...how come the Ministry didn't know how to contact or locate me?" he questioned, remembering how McGonagall and Flitwick had been unable to find him on a map or even get his vital statistics through enchanted sheets of paper. "And what about my casting spells, either? I forgot everything about that and I must have used a dozen charms so far without getting an owl...so..?"

Asmodeus lapsed into silence, adopting a pensive expression, one of very deep thinking. After a tensed moment, however, his head turned about, towards the young wizard. "The Ministry uses charms that can lock on a _human being's _magical signature, though it would've been more clever of them to widen the versatility of their spells. Since you're a _vampire _and your metabolism and magical abilities became different, your signature changed quite radically - which means that the Ministry charms, which were made to search a very _specific,_ _unchanging_ signature, won't be able to find you...since you're...well, different, if you take kindly to hearty euphemisms," he answered carefully. "Owls are a different matter. If they trust you they will come to you...otherwise they'll just fly away since certain animals are aware of our predator nature. Your pet...since you share a certain bond beyond that of ownership...must have stayed with you just from sheer loyalty...or should I say...faithfulness?" he proposed.

"Oh. Yeah, maybe," Harry admitted, feeling a rush of gratefulness directed at the snow white, tawny owl still probably with Hermione at the moment.

"I'm surprised you didn't think about the Ministry earlier," Asmodeus snapped, quirking a disappointed eyebrow.

"I had other things on my mind," Harry hotly retorted.

Asmodeus grunted skeptically and turned away to look at a nearby clock. "Mmmh...very well, one turn and a half...then..." he mumbled, before coming back near Harry and putting the long cord attached to the time-turner around his and Harry's shoulders, just like Hermione did in third year. He grasped the little apparel and turned the small, toothed wheel at the top, making the hourglass spin wildly. Eyeing his surroundings askance, Harry beheld the sunlight getting stronger as Time reversed its course. He saw his and Asmodeus' blurry shapes scurrying away from the room and the moon un-wax as the world's timeline was rewound towards an earlier moment. Finally, the phenomenon came to a brutal stop and the older vampire took the cord off their shoulders and pocketed the device, before ushering his bemused guest towards a small hall. He threw the large ebony doors open and the two stepped outside, into the chilling night. The night was already in its early hours and hadn't reached its darkest pitch yet.

"We'll do some calisthenics for starters, Potter," informed Asmodeus, scanning the settings with slitted pupils. Harry's night vision greatly improved as his eyes got accustomed to the low light level and the outlines of a deserted moor, bordered by a small lake on one side and a rocky promontory on the other, became sharper under the faint moonlight shed over the barren landscape. A few shrubs littered the vast expanse of grass-covered earth but pieces of flora were sparse at best. No houses or signs of human work could be seen and Harry guessed that they were far inside the countryside, away from towns and villages for added discretion. After all, according to Priscilla's lessons, certain vampires loved seclusion but it didn't prevent them from visiting cities from time to time in order to satiate their eternal thirst. "As you can see, my dwellings provide an excellent panoply of convenient landmarks and fields. A lake to practice swimming, bare land for running and a rocky outthrust from the ground to fine-tune your hiking and climbing skills," the Nightslasher explained. "Each night you'll do some exercises at each specific area - most probably running, then swimming and last but not least, climbing."

"All that?" Harry blurted.

"All that," confirmed Asmodeus with a satisfied smirk.

"What about combat? I mean, say, for example, martial arts?"

"In the house, on a settee," curtly answered the vampire, stepping on a large slab of stone that made for an excellent dais overlooking the landscape. "And...I suggest you brace yourself, because in two minutes you'll be running," he warned, inspecting his fingernails with an unconvincing look of oblivious innocence.

"Why am I not surprised by that?" Harry exclaimed sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air.

"Because I'm me," deadpanned Asmodeus with a vicious grin.

* * *

"Again, Potter!"

After a third or fourth time an unwilling runner would automatically wonder where was the point in running circles around a lake in the middle of the night. Putting aside the fact that in that region of Scotland high winds and humidity coupled with a sudden gust of cold air coming from the Atlantic Ocean (one that had brought along loads of water to pour onto the northern regions of Great Britain) resulted in a very chilling atmosphere, the exercise was, in Harry James Potter's humble opinion, quite a barbarian example of modern torture science. As he trudged with no small amount of difficulty over a quite muddy terrain filled with gaps and puddles of murky water, as well as many shrubs and soft grass, he cursed for the umpteenth time that night his bad luck.

_Twenty laps...that man is completely out of his mind...'barking', Ron would say...if Cilia were to see me like that, she'd be laughing her fine ass off...huh? Wait a minute? 'Fine' ass? _He mentally smacked himself, missing being chastised a second time by running distractedly into a bush. The sharp branches and thorns brushing against his skin called him back to full awareness. _Get that out of my mind! Imagine Trelawney dancing the mambo with Snape wearing Maori clothes - yeah, that's it...or Umbridge in sumo attire...yuck!_

"Keep your mind on the track, Potter!" bellowed Asmodeus from afar, startling him out of his daydream. _Easy for you to say, damn it! I'm fucking thirsty!_

Thirty minutes later, Harry found himself bending over his shoes and panting heavily, in front of a scowling, former Auror who seemed less than pleased by his exhausting performance. "Out of shape, out of your mind...pathetic! Next time it'll be thirty, with ten pounds in a backpack you'll have to sling over your shoulder!" he growled.

"WHAT?" Harry exclaimed, both scandalized and horrified by the idea.

"SILENCE! In case you haven't realized, you have NO say in THIS, Potter! This is your apprenticeship, YOU need to be shaped into a Nightslasher, not ME! You have literally your skin hanging off your bones and your muscles are completely numbed by your lack of activity, despite your work at Cilia's bookshop! Before starting fighting like a vampire, you need to tune your body and adapt it to constant strain and effort! A man dropped in the middle of a jungle holds no chance of surviving even a mere _week _if he doesn't have enough muscles to fight his way through that type of maze! Someone in the military would be luckier, and do you know why? Because he's used to walking off-road for hours, days - it's a hard-gained but very helpful habit for him! Because it will save his LIFE!"

"And what about magical dueling, then?" he questioned, incensed by his master's apparent lack of receptiveness.

"Being able to cast spells doesn't count for anything if you haven't got the requested reflexes to come along, Potter," Asmodeus hissed exasperatedly, obviously put on edge by Harry's stubbornness. "By stimulating your body's muscles you establish more bonds between them and your brain, hence a better reaction time! By working them out for a long period you'll be less tired by a painful or sudden effort - and your reaction time in a duel would be decreased. Why? Because your muscles are so well acquainted with your brains that they easily react to a sudden order, especially in times of danger!"

Harry straightened up and walked up to a large boulder, which he used as a seat to rest his battered body. "Cilia told me about that - couldn't we work on that principle, I mean, the berserker thing? By putting me in danger, trying to get my...what words did she use again?" he asked to no one. "Ah, yes...'hidden strengths'. And she also told me that vampires were subjected to high impulsivity and heavy hormonal activity, which increases the power of their feelings and their effects. So..."

"What do you think we're doing right now?" retorted Asmodeus, kicking a pebble out of his way. "Berserkers are indeed powerful but they _cannot_, I repeat, _cannot_ trigger that state by themselves. They need _genuine_ danger, anxiety, even DESPAIR! Simulations wouldn't do them any good because they _know _they _aren't _true. It's a psychological problem...an endless loop, a vicious circle people can't break no matter what. However..." he trailed off, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Harry suddenly felt quite nervous. The glint in his master's eye bade no good for him and that otherworldly sense of foreboding that crept at the edges of his mind skyrocketed dramatically. _Watch out!_ his soul screamed just as Asmodeus whipped his wand towards his apprentice and let loose a red, blinding beam of raw power.

_What the f-_

Harry ducked in alarm out of the way, letting the spell crash into the rock, just into the spot where he'd been sitting on a mere half-second ago. He rolled on the ground then climbed into a crouching position, just as a Stunner came flying into his direction. This time he jerked his midriff sideways, narrowly avoiding the beam but still feeling the power radiating off the attack. His mind was already in overdrive because of the earlier dueling session and he still retained some of his previous alertness; blood pounded in his ears, like mad drums beating a barbarian dirge - an inharmonious call to war. Springing back on his feet by arcing his back, Harry hopped to his right, ready to evade more attempts to hurt him. He wasn't aware of it yet, but parts of his body were actually covered by a shroud of eddying darkness.

His wand appeared in Harry's hand, ready to cast spells and...

_What is he-_

To his surprise, he found a smirking Asmodeus gazing at him, wand held close to his chin, as if thinking deeply.

_Huh? What is he...?_

"You..." Harry began angrily, before recalling their conversation's earlier topic. "You did this to make me feel like I was in danger, didn't you?" he growled between gritted teeth, his face paling further with barely contained wrath. _What was he bloody thinking of? Is he trying to keep me alive or get me dead before even fighting Death Eaters?_

"I don't know how to take this," Asmodeus grumbled sullenly. "Either you were too stupid to guess that this was a provocation meant to trigger your berserker state or you truly have the mind of a fighter: acting first, thinking after. Survival instincts supersede your conscious...interesting..."

"Was it better to remain in place and get blown into smithereens?" Harry shouted irately, losing the remaining shreds of his beaten down self-control. "WAS IT?"

"OF COURSE NOT, YOU INSUFFERABLE IMBECILE!" Asmodeus raged back, his face contorted in fury. "AND THAT IS WHY I'M TRAINING YOU IN A DIRTY FASHION, POTTER! CRAM THAT INTO YOUR THICK SKULL!"

Harry's jaw snapped shut, but he still seethed with anger. His eyes blazed with crimson hues, washing the brilliant forest green away and conveying his resentment at the methods the Nightslasher was using. Asmodeus growled much like a rabid dog would then eyed Harry's body, his smirk widening as he saw the tendrils of shadow swirling around his limbs like wisps of fog. Harry saw the smug stare and looked down, only to freeze stiff when he spotted the spreading phenomenon. As soon as stupefaction took over ire, the diaphanous blanket of black faded to nothingness, as the young wizard's focus was nullified.

"What the -"

"I think I got my point across, Potter," sneered Asmodeus, obviously quite pleased with himself. "Visibly you do have the signs of a true berserker."

"Cilia taught me last night how to Shadowcloak but I can't keep it very long," Harry explained sheepishly with a shrug, hoping that this piece of news would appease the sadistic wizard. He wasn't disappointed as he saw Asmodeus nod with a blank expression. _Well, it's not like he fawned all over me...but then that scenario would be as improbable as seeing McGonagall singing Michael Jackson's greatest hits in a leather dominatrix outfit...ack!_

"Understandable," Asmodeus acquiesced with a nod. "Rare are those who can maintain the Cloak around them for more than thirty seconds. You are not used to the feeling yet but when you will be ready you will be able to keep it up for _weeks _without any apparent problem. The only hitch you might encounter is _concentration._ Next week we'll start testing your ability to do more than one thing at the same time, such as fighting two opponents at once. That will help you keep your mind riveted onto two different points of focus. I have animated training dummies in the mansion; they can simulate casting curses and hexes so we won't have to call in any unwanted participant," he grumbled. "No need to spread the word that Harry Bloody Potter has become a vampire." With that, he walked towards the small gravel road that led towards another, more verdant moor, silently ushering Harry to follow him.

"Don't you trust anyone to keep such a secret?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow and already guessing the answer. _Damn, he _is _Moody's son!_ he thought as he trudged wearily behind, massaging his sore muscles and abused joints.

"Not with this. Not yet. Now, back to training, Potter," the vampire snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Ten other laps and after that one hundred pushups and jumping jacks each! Start running _now_!"

"Oh, man..." Harry moaned as he headed for the track, gritting his teeth in irritation.

_Asmodeus is the name of a demon. Whoever that guy's parents were certainly chose his name perfectly..._

_I wonder why I feel like I'm in Hell...?_

* * *

"So...how did yar training session go?"

"How did the First World War's battles of the trenches go?" Harry countered from his bed to the figure of one Priscilla Dane, reclining on the doorway and observing him from afar. He had just returned with the help of his Portkey and had immediately waddled back to his room and collapsed on the soft mattress, hugging its softness with a sentiment close to unbridled adoration. _Aaaah...dear old faithful bed...do you know I'm in love with you? My beloved sweetie... _On the windowsill, Hedwig stared at her master with an enquiring look, having returned from her errand but without a letter from Hermione. Harry, however, was too tired to notice this and just acknowledged, in a semi-state of sleep his pet with a wave of his hand.

"Ah...I see. Ole Modie indeed has tha' reputation of bein' quite tha' uptight drill instructor, with fangs thrown in, eh?" she questioned, shooting him a playful wink that he found rather infuriating because of the discussed topic. "Cilia, you _do_ have a predilection for understatements," he groused.

"Aaaah, well...not my fault," she laughed. "But I think Modie wouldn't be himself without his snappish attitude. An' his training program would indeed suffer if he were ta go outta character any time soon. He hates lax an' lazy students - he pushes them ta their limits 'till they finally understand what vampirism's truly 'bout," she declared, her eyes retreating to somewhere deep within her mind.

"And do _you _know now?" Harry asked her, swiveling his head sideward to look at his first mentor. Priscilla lapsed into pensive silence and shook her head. "I'm finding out everyday - just like you," she whispered, once again in that absent voice - which sometimes worried Harry as she seemed to have those moments on a more frequent basis, quite recently.

"Oh."

"That's one o' tha' lessons Modie taught me tha' most cruelly, I think," she declared, her eyes becoming distant. "That tha' answers ta yar questions change on a daily basis - they never stay tha' same. They're always different. But ya shouldn't dwell on them overmuch otherwise you'll be spendin' tha' rest o' yar life asphyxiated by remorse an' regrets. If ya fucked up, fix it up tha' soonest ya can, even if ya're no rocket scientist. Just do somethin' an' stop waitin' for winter ta come," she smiled softly, as if encouraging him.

"Okay...seems like I've got a long path to tread, haven't I?" he asked tiredly.

"We all do, Harry," she answered simply.

"Well...I'm too knackered to go outside for a hunt...so...good night, then."

"Good night, Harry," she replied, her voice a dying whisper.

As its door was closed, the room was immediately plunged in darkness, leaving one young vampire to doze peacefully away, content with the comfort his bed offered him.

_Priscilla survived him...so why can't I?_ was his last thought before the kingdom of sleep seized the rulership of his mind.

* * *

As he recounted to Priscilla the events of yesterday's night, Harry couldn't feel but harbor mixed feelings towards his training. Sure, Asmodeus was no delicate teacher as he preferred to rush forward in his lessons like a rampaging elephant would trample ruthlessly through a porcelain dishware boutique, but what he had witnessed heretofore from his master instilled within him a deep sense of excitement. He was on one side looking forward to those sessions while on the other foreboding the arrival of many a wound and bruise to befall him - but he didn't care as far as he finally reaped, be it in two month or in a decade, what he was now sowing. His apprenticeship was, after all, a process meant to assert his will to protect himself from threats and enable him to respond appropriately.

_Woe betide me if I will end up unscathed from all those duels_, he vowed.

Priscilla was actually quite impressed with the curriculum Asmodeus had come up with; as she had never entered an apprenticeship program despite her mentor's offers, she was unaware of what those rituals secretly kept in store and was quite curious about them. There was also the fact that as someone who intended to take the Hippocratic Oath one day when she'd have to opportunity to become a nurse or a doctor, she couldn't fight as a Nightstalker one moment and heal injured people the other. It was a paradox she apparently loathed, an unwelcome dilemma she didn't to bring upon herself. Her commitments should lay in a single place, not two. As they started replenishing the _Booklets and Papers _stocks of newspapers with new arrivals, Harry and Priscilla found themselves discussing quite passionately about what was more important, offense or defense. The 'a good offense was a good defense' argument predictably sprung up but neither could exactly agree with each other, though the banter remained very amiable and didn't go into heated terms. Priscilla vouched for defense while Harry, unsurprisingly, showed his preference for offense - a choice influenced by the latest developments in his former life as a wizard student.

He wouldn't admit that Asmodeus had a role in it but his heated talks with the Nightslasher had changed his views about how to deal with modern life menaces.

Five days lazily dragged by, and Harry began his true training with growing interest and enthusiasm. Hermione had still not answered but he didn't expect her to find out about his predicament despite her brilliant mind. He hadn't been very forthcoming with his clues and, right at the moment, wished to remain undisturbed although he still wished to renew his friendship with his former classmates. In the meantime he buried himself in passionate work with an abandon that would cause Minerva McGonagall to cry rivers in pride towards his newly adopted, studious behavior. Asmodeus had lent him a dozen books, all of which had been written by vampires who obviously were very familiar with vampiric powers and how to use them efficiently. Some of the techniques Harry had read about even made his eyebrows perform backflips on his forehead. Most of them relied on the Shadowblending technique as well as the intangible form vampires assumed during that moment but there were also quite acrobatic stunts that could only be achieved through heightened muscular abilities - suffice it to say, it was child's play for seasoned Nightstalkers. Harry had tried each night before going back to sleep to summon the Shadowcloak around him, with mixed results. He discovered that success depended a lot on his state of mind and his ability to focus onto a certain subject or object.

For the moment, he had just managed the Shadowcloak, which basically consisted in creating a shroud of darkness around his body, but he had yet to _transform himself _into malleable shadow, which was the ultimate state of Shadowblending. He would then be able to wander around in a shapeless state, like a fog that would slither its way through cracks in walls, interstices between doors and doorways and float through the skies like an oversized bird of prey, lost in the pitch black skies. Right now, Harry was just able to hide himself from view with a layer of impenetrable darkness and no more - assuming he had a darkened hideout to blend himself into otherwise lightly colored background would give him out. Becoming something close to an ectoplasm or a swirling mass of smoke was, without further discussion, a radically different thing.

At the sixth day, Harry was back in _Booklets and Papers,_ once again assisting Priscilla in moving geographical surveys and other stacks of blank A4-format papers around. The formerly trivial discussion, which originally started about the increasing sales of _Newsweek_, was soon diverted towards his apprenticeship and the latest developments. As Harry was often too knackered to relate his tale to his companion upon his return to the apartment, the two used to talk about his lessons the morning after, either around breakfast, in the car on in the bookshop.

Just like now.

"Well, it wasn't so bad - he only threatened me with a Disembowelment Curse instead of the Bloodletting or Castration Hexes. It's a slight development but good in my opinion," Harry shivered, not relishing the idea of losing what made him a male or being emptied from his contents onto a newly waxed floor. Priscilla laughed at the idea and shook her head, eyeing him askance with a teasing look.

"Well, if that's so, I think I must expect ya ta come back home one day with yar head under yar arm an' tellin' me ta fix ya, I guess," Priscilla sighed melodramatically.

"It'll be a miracle if I'd still be standing on my feet," Harry corrected with a wry smile.

"That bad? Harry!" she mock-gasped. "Have ya been startin' fights with Modie?"

Harry sniggered and shrugged. "For the moment, it's quite shaky with him but I think we'll get along sooner or later," he said, scanning the stickers on the crates and already selecting the high-priority arrivals.

"Well, that's comfortin' but I don't think he'll open up ta ya very soon - he never does. He'll just ban' yar head on tha' nearest faucet till ya do his biddin' right", she laughed.

"As long as he doesn't use my body as a mop to wipe the floor with, I'll be okay," he countered with a smirk. Priscilla swatted at his elbow and returned to the counter, taking with her a couple of cigarette packs, which she dumped in the distributors. Harry, for his part, bent down to heave to waist level a bound-together pile of _Sunday Telegraph_'s latest editions, ready to be released for sale. As he walked over to the newspaper aisles he started moving magazines apart, so that he could insert the new arrivals - a task that didn't come with much ease. _Really, moving around those _Playboy_ and _Penthouse _mags without being teased by Cilia is really bad and embarrassing..._ he lamented mentally.

"Make sure ya dispose of tha' old ones, Harry," Priscilla reminded him, her back turned to him - much to his relief. Behind him the entrance door chimed electronically as a new customer entered the bookshop.

"Yeah, yeah, it'll be done soon," Harry called back absent-mindedly.

He was on the verge of snapping the stack's bindings apart when...

"Harry?" said a voice behind him - one that he knew only too well.

Overwhelmed by a sense of déjà vu, Harry slowly spun around, coming up to face...

_"Hermione?"_

* * *

**A/N:**

Everything's clear, progression is satisfactory, plot turns are flowing swift and right on time, though I'd have preferred Hermione to come in slightly later, but...bah! Whatever. Is it slow or too fast-paced? I want to put a word here: the reason why HP-ASIT and NGE TBI were so slow in development was because I knew each step I made in both stories would need explanations and each time I had to state them so nobody would be left with unneeded interrogations afterwards. In HP-AVC, I use those blank lines for the plot. For example, the Ministry Owl not coming (now answered), Priscilla not talking about her past, the stag becoming a thestral...mmmh...ask those questions anyway, so that I can see whether I forgot or miswrote something. If I see some mistake here or there I'll notify you. Note: this story is filled with OOCness but don't forget that tragedies or big developments are often catalysts to heavy changes. _Voakands_, I understand your plight but it was a consequence of my wanting to give Priscilla a bit more of character depth, so that she wouldn't be a Mary Sue. I'm thinking about making her lose gradually her accent under Harry's influence, though. _Fopalup1_, you got your answers - funny you asked, I already had the answers written for this chap. _Dark-bitch_, same thing for you. Next chap: catching up (predictably).

One last thing. As I wrote the parts about Harry and his dilemma I couldn't but feel an incommensurably high distaste at writing that type of moments. It's buggering me; action seems way easier and cooler to depict rather than drama or psychology 101. Next chap...urgh. More moments like this but we'll come back to normal in ch. 08...promise...sworn...whatever.

C 'n' C accepted but keep it civil. No flames.

And...**R 'n' R.**

Until next time,

**ABI2301**


	7. Chapter 07: Sorrow And Secrets Never Mak

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 07**

**v.01: 04/11/2005**

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**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

The copyright of _Missing_ belongs to Evanescence and Wind-up Records, Inc.

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**Chapter 07: ****Sorrow And Secrets Never Make Happy Couples**

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"Hermione?"

Both of them stood there, frozen in place and not believing their eyes. For Harry, the world had stopped turning, as if the very hand of God had stilled the planet in its endless revolution. He kept staring into Hermione's eyes, his surprise a dead giveaway of his true identity to his former friend. He dared not move, afraid that a wrong movement from his part might scare her away or ruin everything, even his last chance to acceptance and reconciliation - even if he didn't deserve them. Regret and remorse had plagued him ever since Asmodeus' heated speech and the two feelings now reached cataclysmic proportions within him as he looked into his companion's brown orbs, taking in the hurt, hope, relief and disbelief they held in a tight group. All those feelings he saw nearly made his heart crack and his knees buckle, as he stammered a dumbfounded, "Hermione?"

How lame for a greeting.

"Harry?"

Predictable, too.

Priscilla, behind her counter, was gazing at the two, biting her lip as she realized that Harry was at long last facing the past he had so brazenly forsaken. She remained silent, waiting for what was to come. For a long moment, the two breathless teenagers stared at each other, neither of them budging a finger. Then, sensing that both of them couldn't remain like that all day, Harry opened his lips -

Just as Hermione lunged forward to slap him HARD across the face, her fingernails digging deep gashes in the young wizard's pale cheeks. Harry, despite his heightened five senses, had been too surprised to avoid the blow and was sent sprawling onto the floor, dropping the magazines he was holding. He rubbed his injured skin and climbed to his knees, fingering his jaw to see if there were any loose teeth. He felt something cracking but his dentition - something invaluable for a vampire - seemed pretty intact despite the erratic signals his nerves shot to his brains. He rubbed his lips and turned towards a shaking Hermione, who, for the second time, pounced on him but this time to smother him in the mother of all hugs - one that would have made Molly Weasley look like an amateur in terms of tightness and fervor. Suffice it to say, Harry's mind nearly suffered a brutal shutdown as he felt his friend's arms encircle his neck and heard her sobs.

Women were known for their changing behavior and Harry could tell it would be one of his existence's banes.

"YOU GREAT PRAT!" she wailed into his neck, shaking uncontrollably. "What in the hell made you think you could abandon us?" she sniffed, tightening her grip around the young wizard who patted her back tentatively, trying to not notice the stinging sensation in his battered cheek and missing her uncharacteristic use of cuss words. Harry sighed miserably and shot Priscilla a nervous glance, relieved to see her answer him with a smile and conveniently leave the room. He remained silent for a dozen seconds then murmured in her ear: "did you receive my letter? How did you find me?"

Hermione reluctantly pulled away, rubbing at her puffy, bloodshot eyes with her sleeve before smiling sadly. "You mentioned in your letter that you were spending your time among books so I supposed you were with someone who either had a great collection or someone who used literature as a commerce. Since you also stated you had a job," he continued, "I guessed you were employed as a seller or a delivery boy - something among those lines, at least. I then thought you would still be in Little Whinging since you didn't use the Knight Bus and therefore were still in the vicinity." Harry marveled at her logic, feeling an odd sense of pride at her perspicacity. _That's the Hermione I know_, he reassured himself. Hermione saw his weak smile and reciprocated the gesture but her eyes still retained their hurt look, which made Harry flinch the second he discovered her state of mind. "So I grabbed a map and asked my parents to spend some weeks in here to try to locate you. I finally came up with this address and I came to see whether you'd be here or not. Then I heard your name being called out and..."

Harry sighed and took a step back to lean on the wall, rubbing his tired temples, suddenly feeling like a hundred years old. "Harry?

"Hermione, whatever happens, don't change," he murmured softly. "If you keep that brilliant mind of yours this sharp you'll be able to go far...beyond anyone's expectations."

"Thank you," smiled Hermione, her eyes watering at his praise. "But you still have your word to keep."

"What? Which one?" questioned a puzzled Harry, his head shooting up at her comment.

"In your letter you said that if you happened to meet and talk with me in person you'd tell me what had happened to you, right?" she asked, her eyes hardening suddenly. "I didn't come here to just see you and hear something like 'now that you see I'm alright, get out of my legs and leave me the hell alone!'"

Harry nodded, seeing with growing sadness his chance to escape that dreaded moment fade away in the distance, mocking his discomfort with an ugly cackle that'd make Peeves weep about disloyal concurrence. _It's now or never._ "Come on, Harry! Tell me! Don't you trust me?" she sniffed with a tearful, hurt look, stomping her foot in a somewhat childish manner.

"Yes. But as I told you - I'm not sure of anything anymore. The entire world stopped turning in the good direction that night. I lost all of my certitudes in a single second. Where my allegiances laid now, I couldn't tell anymore."

"But WHAT changed, Harry?" she nearly screamed, feeling frustrated at his reluctance to confide in her. It was so unfamiliar of him despite his behavior in fifth year with all the troubles and burdens Umbridge's actions had thrown upon the Boy-Who-Lived's shoulders. She could tell he had changed by his new looks, but she wanted to believe that deep inside, within his soul, still resided the Harry Potter she had come to love as her best friend. "Just TELL me or SHOW me, Harry, stop dodging the subject!" she hissed, losing her temper.

_Whoa...must be that time of the month...plus steroids as interests._

Harry nodded grimly and got up, before tugging his collar open before a clueless Hermione. His friend, however, gasped in unfathomable horror as she saw the deep gashes running across his jugular, as well as the white scars adorning his collarbone like a gory necklace. Harry stared at her reaction coldly, bracing himself for the next part. He needed to be strong... "Harry!" she shrieked, grabbing his shoulders, "WHAT IS THAT? WHAT HAPPENED?" she screamed, horrified. Harry just looked away before glancing at her with a sorrowful expression. "What lurks in the dark at night and waits for a prey to pass, Hermione? What could possibly have attacked me that night and mauled me so badly?" he asked, trying to clue her in. Hermione shook her head, her face losing its color as the implications sunk in. "No, no...Harry...tell me it isn't true!" she pleaded, her eyes widening terribly.

She took a step back and staggered to the next aisle, grabbing the metallic frame to support her body. She was feeling very weak in the knees as well as dangerously nauseous. Close to fainting. Harry finally decided to take the plunge, knowing that a physical demonstration was always preferable to mere words. Blunter, hurtful but simpler. He showed her his teeth and concentrated. His fangs elongated, growing beyond his lips as his vampire side came back in full control.

Hermione stared at him incredulously, her pupils completely dilated and ashen-faced, then, much to Harry's horror, collapsed on the ground, choking on her breath. Harry shot forward, dropping to his knees and grabbing the fallen girl. _Well, that went better than I thought_, he commented sarcastically. His enhanced hearing picked up steps behind him and he spun around to see a concerned Priscilla kneeling at their level to grab the young witch under the armpits and lift her off the floor. "I think ya made yar point but I must admit ya know how ta make girls fall far ya," she quipped, trying to comfort the alarmed wizard who was looking at her with an agitated expression.

Hermione moaned in Priscilla's grasp as the older vampire led her towards the back of the room, to the small restroom provided by the house's owner. Priscilla slammed the door behind them, leaving a distressed Harry to wail inwardly over his horrendous misfortunes, listening with heart-wrenching sorrow at the sound of Hermione's sob-punctuated retching and emptying her stomach into the toilet seat. The young vampire was wringing his hand nervously, feeling the urge to bolt out of the bookshop and once again run away but his limbs weighed like lead, as if someone in the heavens - 'god' knew who (cough, cough) - wanted to prevent him from disappearing in the nature for ever and ever. Two minutes later a pale like a ghost Hermione emerged from the restroom, helped by an apologetic Priscilla. "Watch her, Harry, I'm gonna find her somethin' ta eat an' drink. If she feels faint or wants ta vomit, help her," she instructed, making Hermione sit on a rickety chair before rushing towards a small shed in the backyard, looking for the aforementioned items.

Harry patted her over her back and knelt to look at her straight in the eye. _Now is the moment of truth._

"Do...you...understand, now?" he questioned, finding great difficulty in uttering those simple, critical words. His throat felt mystifyingly constricted and, try as he might, each syllable was a torture for his vocal chords. Hermione looked at him for half a minute in silence before nodding miserably, her blank look butchering Harry's heart more efficiently than a dozen knife stabs in the chest.

"Do you understand why I had to go away?" he continued, raising a hand to caress her jaw, covered in tear trails. She acquiesced again, scrunching her eyes in pain. "You should have told us..." she sobbed dishearteningly. "You should have..."

Harry's heart was now nothing but a unidentifiable mass from the knife-work.

"As I said in my letter, 'Mione, should have, could have, would have...didn't," he corrected, sensing guilt crashing down onto the pits of his stomach like a waterfall made of liquid granite. "When I escaped from the Dursleys I was too distraught and frightened to think anything else...not that I could think about something that made sense, by the way. I only wanted to go away, to be safe. The Order wasn't there - in fact, they never came. So I decided not to rely on them. If I couldn't entrust them with my safety then I couldn't even be near them. So I ran away," he finished, his eyes dropping towards her lap. He got up and patted her shoulder soothingly.

"It wasn't an easy choice, Hermione; I had nowhere to go but I went out nevertheless. I took the risk of being killed, lost or hurt as long as I could find my freedom and a promise of well-being elsewhere," he explained. "The person who brought you to the loo - that was Priscilla - is...my mentor. She's the one who took me in her apartment and trains me to get my abilities in check."

"Abilities...?" she said weakly, dabbing at her swollen eyes with her fingers. Harry's face no longer stung but he was sure there were still red marks from the abuse.

"Vampires are stronger and more perceptive than human beings, Hermione," Harry gently explained, fishing in his pocket to retrieve a crumpled but clean handkerchief. He wiped her tears away and sighed, leaning on a nearby doorframe to support himself for the effort. "I'm more and more aware of my increased capabilities; it's like perfect awareness but also a longing for more - something I need to bridle before it gets to my head like an addiction. In the meantime, I'm informed of a lot of things. Like...for example," he said, before silently sniffing the air. "You've eaten mushrooms with lambs and sauce yesterday night..." he stated with a piercing look.

Hermione's eyes went wide as she froze over, gazing at him with horrified, dumbfounded eyes. Had she been standing she would have staggered back and fell on her backside in consternation. Thank God for creating chairs in this world. "How -" she sputtered, pointing her finger at him, apparently accusing him of spying on her. Harry beamed reassuringly at his panicked friend and pointed at his nose. "I can tell because the smell of what you eat clings to you, even if it's really faint. I could smell mushrooms and lamb on you with something akin to cream, so..." he trailed off. "And remember that I used to spend lots of time in the kitchen, so..." he trailed off, the maddening memory of the Dursleys surging back to life in his mind's eye.

Hermione gaped at him then shook her head, chuckling under her breath. Harry patted her on her back and offered her a new paper handkerchief, throwing the spent one in the wastebasket. Thankfully there was no one else right now in the bookshop save for the three of them or the customer(s) would have been greeted with a very strange sight. Hermione's half-sobs, half-laughs finally subsided, falling from full-blown tears into small hiccups till they were finally no more. She coughed a little and looked at him with watery, unsure eyes. "So...you're a vampire," she stated numbly, obviously finding neither comfort nor reason for rejoice in her words. _And where the bloody hell is Priscilla?_

"Had I been professor Snape I would have grumbled, then grudgingly accepted the answer but taken ten points from Gryffindor for the delay, Miss Granger," Harry flippantly said, trying to cheer her up and finding his mimicking oddly fake. His smile now seemed like a grimace, showing his inner pain like a banner of sadness. Obviously, his impersonation had met its mark as she laughed softly, but not loud enough to make his worries ebb away. It was mild amusement not true mirth. Both of them were doubtlessly a long way from complete understanding. It was also an understatement to observe that there was a lot to catch up with, too. "You okay?" he inquired, full of solicitude, blaming himself for her desolate state.

She nodded quickly, before blowing her nose in her crumpled hanky. "I am...will be..." she assured, mumbling the last part. Harry acquiesced cheerlessly and took his back off the wooden doorframe to walk towards the entrance of the bookshop and change the plate from 'open' into 'closed'. "Wouldn't want us to be disturbed, would we?" he explained ruefully.

"A wise choice," Priscilla agreed from the small shed in the back, bringing with her a bottle of Evian. "Drink this, an' wash yar mouth out. If ya want some pills for stomach trouble, jus' ask me," she instructed. "Unfortunately I don't have cookies anymore so ya'll hafta ta do without it." Hermione hesitantly took the bottle and indulged herself in a small gulp of the welcome, cleansing liquid. "Feelin' better?"

Hermione nodded again before falling into a series of explosives coughs. She glanced at Harry from the corner of her eye and bit her lip. Harry took notice of it and spoke up. "Something wrong?"

"How long?" she asked.

"How long what?" he repeated, puzzled by her question.

Wordlessly, she pointed at her mouth - referring to Harry's elongated teeth and, more exactly, his vampirism.

"Oh...I was turned in the night I disappeared," Harry responded, fearing the destination of the blooming topic.

"I see," she replied calmly, looking away.

"I know you've got a mammoth-load of questions, Hermione," Harry coaxed comfortingly. "Fire them away. I'll try to answer them the best I can, if that can comfort you. It's the least I can do." With his finger, he rubbed a small teardrop away from her cheekbone, finding the soft skin hot like a pack of burning coals. He felt like soiling her very being with the mass of darkness he'd become. "There are, anyway, a few things both of us need to straighten out before sunset." Hermione stared at him open-mouthed, frowned then voiced her first interrogation, resolve coming back to her. Offering rational questions were one of her ways to deal with a situation.

"So...Harry...how have you been?" she started hesitantly. Harry peered at her from the corner of his eye, undecided on how to answer that particular question. Over the past few days he had tried to determine what made him different from a normal human beings, apart from his new powers and increased perception and he was dismayed to find that he couldn't come up with anything quite particular or that made the vampire folk stand out, according to his own perception. "Do I really have to answer?" he sighed mournfully, ignoring the regretful look that flashed through her brown orbs. "I guess I've been doing okay but the first days were hectic. My mind was flooded with so much information from my ears, skin, tongue, nose and eyes I felt dizzy quite a few times. I guess it's because of my new metabolism and improved nerve system, though. Priscilla briefed me in how a vampire was physically different from a...human being. Our blood is quite different - it holds more nutrients and vitamins but, consequently, our body asks for a lot of food. The trick the first vampires in history came up with was to directly feed on other beings' blood since that liquid was already laden with proteins, lipids and all the such. Not to mention oxygen, which is vital for our body. Vitamins too. But for each advantage there is a drawback: we need to feed quite frequently. Every other night Priscilla and I walk through Cromwell Park or near Little Disraeli Avenue to find some bloke we can have a bite on," he nearly panicked when he saw her horrified expression. THAT wasn't the _one_ thing to say and he already regretted his imprudent words. "NO - NO - listen to me! There are ways for us _not _to infect people. It depends on how we bite - superficial wounds and soft bites do not turn people in. Mauling people does do that instead. Come on, Hermione," he argued, "if we were to bite every other people walking through Little Whinging, the vampire population would be over one thousand, wouldn't you think so? Apart from Priscilla, her little sister and Asmodeus, I haven't even felt other vampires in this town!"

Hermione's ears perked up at that. The concept was apparently alien to her. "Felt?"

"Extra-sensorial abilities," Harry specified, fidgeting a little and walking in circles to vent off his nervousness. "Like a sixth sense. Priscilla tells me it's all about pheromones but I think there's more to it than meets the eye. I can hear people through walls just by listening to their heartbeat," he told a speechless Hermione. "It becomes quite embarrassing when you have very...affectionate...neighbors, though," he grinned, red-faced and eliciting an embarrassed giggle from his interlocutor. "But we feel more vampires than we hear them. It's not even smelling, you know. Vampires don't have a particular smell at all. But there are indeed pheromones that keep other animals like large dogs, wolves, cats and other beings away...like an alarm signal. The greater animals are for ours and the smaller need to get away before the hunt is open."

"Oh. How come I never read about that in _Creatures of the Dark: Critters and Monsters_?" she wondered, distressed at her lack of knowledge in the field. Harry smiled at her predicament and patted her back, delighted to see her former self - calm, methodical and knowledgeable - come back full force. This was a good sign in his opinion. "You don't expect vampires to give wizards interviews here and there, right? Or give ourselves that willingly to obscene biological experiments led by a sadistic, technology-hungry ministry, do you?" Hermione nodded in understanding, knowing the feud between the Nightstalkers and the wizarding folk. "Enough said. To say it short, Hermione...I...just feel cold...like a living corpse...cold but aware. Strong but somewhat paranoid when I don't feel anybody near me. It's as if I were content in others' company. We are trained to locate our peers and human beings...and when we don't, we then start worrying. We are predators. We feel content in the company of our preys. And that's one of the reasons why we are so much feared," he concluded with a shake of his head. _Do you get the hint, Hermione? Do you understand why I had to abandon you and the Order? I'm giving you clues, Hermione. Take them. Please. For my own sake._

_And please understand._

Harry walked towards the front door and peered outside, looking at the gleaming sun. "Loads of bull have circulated on vampires, too. See: I'm standing in the sunshine and I'm as fine as a charm," he smiled, making some steps in broad daylight. Hermione followed him suit and looked closely at his different features. "As for garlic and crosses? Muggle fiction and pagan superstition. Transforming into bats? There's some truth to it be we aren't true animaguses," he grinned, seeing his friend and classmate lean forward, both in expectation and fascination.

"Priscilla promised to tell me more about it, though, but that's all I know for the moment, and...about holy water? That's crap invented by the Church to keep a hold on the easily impressionable Christian population. But as for blood-drinking and favoring nighttime, that's perfectly legit. Us being monsters?" he asked rhetorically, his voice tightening a bit. Hermione frowned in response. "Did I attack you? Did I bite you? Am I...evil incarnated? Do I even remotely _look_ like a Voldemort wannabe?"

"No," she said lamely.

"Then you have got your answer. Priscilla told me vampire attacks were often caused by vamps who didn't know yet about their predicament and got too hungry. They just acted out of instinct and too much enthusiasm, I suppose. But then, having someone siphoning the blood out of your neck isn't something most people would either call 'normal' or 'casual' - so that's why we're branded as monsters," he concluded. "But although the transition from humanity to vampirism is a trifle painful and disturbing...well, after a while, it isn't so bad, you know," he smiled tentatively. Hermione raised an eyebrow before shaking her head, openly disagreeing with the idea.

"So bad? Harry -"

"Hermione," he interrupted warningly. "Just take my word, okay? We're only dangerous if we don't know how to deal with our...illness or...if we decided to be so - but then you'd be branded as a ambulant danger even to the vampire community. And...oh, well...in the meantime, when you become a vampire, you don't receive an oversized aggressiveness gene or have your mind messed up with. You're normal. Clearheaded. Conscious. You're the same but with a different body and lifestyle. And we've got rules between vampires so that our...bloodthirsty doesn't get overboard. We have our own boundaries."

"I see," she replied, hanging her head low. Harry took her in his arms, patting her back reassuringly. "If it isn't so bad, why did you go away?"

"Because I didn't know yet what it was to be a trained vampire. By the time I had realized my new state, I was lusting for blood and it was scaring me to no end...it had frightened me so much I had wanted to go away so as to not bite anyone in bloodthirst...the very smell of blood turned me on...you know, like holding a sugar cube in front of a dog - he may not be hungry but he'll still long for it..."

"I get it," Hermione said with an amused smile, though her eyes were still clouded.

"Do ya always hafta speak 'bout depressin' matters, ya two?" sing-sang Priscilla from the bookshop, her slender frame appearing at the doorway. "Ya shouldn't mar yar reunion with such serious things, eh, Harry?" Harry wanted to differ on that but the look the other vampire offered begged him not to say another word or he'd be tap-dancing on top of a live antitank mine that evening. "Sure," he said, jaws snapping against each together as he forcefully stopped his words from coming out of his lips. Priscilla threw him a warning smirk and looked back at Hermione with a cheerful look Harry found eerily familiar to Nymphadora Tonks', the Order's metamorphmagus. Young and devoid of trouble. Happy to live.

"I think we weren't introduced," Priscilla said, extending her hand. "Priscilla Dane. I'm Harry's...landlady, for lack of a better term, and fang-fellow." On cue, her canines grew, jutting out of her upper lip. Hermione was transfixed by the sight but Harry's arm clasped her shoulder, telling her to relax and take it easy. "Oh...I'm Hermione Granger...Harry's classmate," she answered, failing not to stutter in the process.

"Charmed ta meet ya. Wand-waver, are ya?" the Nightstalker questioned, her features losing a scant fraction of their warmth but so imperceptibly that only Harry registered the change. Priscilla, however, seemed not to notice his disapproving frown or just chose to ignore it. "What?" Hermione said, surprised that her interlocutor would be aware of that kind of people's existence. But then Harry would have told his landlady, knowing what he now was.

"I was askin' ya if ya were...erm...a...a witch?" Priscilla clarified.

"Oh...oh, yeah! Yeah, I am."

"I see, jus' wanted ta know," she said with a wave of her hand. Harry could tell she, like Hermione, was wary of the other, though there was no hostility between the two. The comparison would have been more veracious had it been about two animals of the same breed defending their territories. Gauging each other and pondering whether to be on the defensive or not. "I understand," Hermione sniffled before reaching for her own handkerchief to clear her nose.

"Really a good way to begin tha' day," Priscilla said with a wistful tone and clucking her tone. "All in tears. We need ta fix this up."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked perplexedly.

"D'ya like goin' out?" Priscilla asked offhandedly. Hermione nodded in confirmation. "A bit," she admitted.

_Hermione going out? Woo...looks like I hit the jackpot! Someone calls Rita Skeeter! SCOOP AHEAD!_

"Purr-fect! So why don't we spend tha' evenin' in a discotheque ta celebrate yar reunion, both of ya?" the female vampire proposed, her arms set akimbo. Hermione stuttered an uneasy "but..." before Priscilla's wagging finger told her that the vampire wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "Yar parents, yeah? Got yar cell phone?"

Hermione fished in her bag and took out a small mobile phone. Though it hadn't become a raging trend then owning a cell phone was still something prized by people who had the means to buy them. Harry knew it only too well since he used to live with the Dursleys. If that was actually possible, those infuriating, uncaring and boisterous relatives of his would have bought Talkie-Walkies to gain more attention from the neighbors. "Yes, I've got it," she said. Priscilla nodded and continued, "then ya might want ta call them an' tell them ya will be a lil' late today, if ya want ta spend tha' day with us, so as ta catch up," she offered, quirking her eyebrows at the wizard and witch. Harry smiled softly and Hermione, though a bit uneasy and peaky after so many, overwhelming emotions, gave an approving yet hesitant nod.

"Marvelous," Priscilla cheered. "Then let's get goin'."

"Where to?" asked Hermione.

"Somewhere fancier than a bookshop, at least."

* * *

"The _Whining Bulldog_?" Hermione asked with a bewildered look. "This town's bars and cafés definitely have strange names," she said wryly, slightly ruffled by the strange-sounding names. Harry stifled a small laugh behind his hand and smiled. _And does 'Leaky Cauldron' or 'Three Broomsticks' sound better? _"That's what I told myself when I first set foot here - on a side note, it was a _terra incognita _for me. Never been here before."

"_Terra incognita_?" Hermione said with a raised eyebrow as they entered the small café, which served as a discotheque during the usually turbulent nighttime. Harry favored this particular place as it was the closest to the Danes' apartment and one of the less crowded at night. Little Whinging indeed was a peaceful town but in the agglomeration's center reigned a youth eager to spend their teenage life in places where they could spend their strength and money on raging music and shameless flirting, as Harry had discovered. It was one of the little city's conceit to look like downtown London with its bustling atmosphere and jet-set looks. _Vanitas, vanitatum et omnia vanitas,_ a waiter had told the vampire one night. _Everything is vanity here. Nothing is true - just a jumbled mass of cheap props and hollow facades. Those cheery buggers wish to find London's nightlife within those shiny and sparkly establishments - our discotheques and bars. The higher on drugs and the drunker they are, the better the illusion is. Of course, it isn't their sole delusion - they also want to have some fun. And that's what they do. Dance, flirt and drink like madmen till sunrise. That's when the dream fades and everybody goes back home with a killer hangover to kick your mind up to Jupiter. And then either you go to work or to school. And wait till nighttime comes again. To party again and again till the night takes them._ "It seems that spending your time in a bookshop had good effects on your vocabulary. Don't tell me you have been _reading_!" she said with faked affliction. Priscilla snickered behind her hand, nonplussed by Harry's forbidding glare.

"Helps for the job, you know?" he answered with a shrug. "At least you get to know what that book or magazine is talking about and where to place it. At least you won't mistake Samuel Becket as a fashion critic of the nineties but as a playwright of the fifties-sixties with a marked interest for the absurd."

"Oh," she said, blinking in surprise. "I thought I would be the only one in Hogwarts to know about him," she said with a wry shake of the head. "It looks like I have competition, now."

"Oh," Harry repeated dryly. "Don't get your hopes too high, I haven't read the encyclopedia section yet," he countered slyly. Her know-it-all-ness was something still sensitive around her as people often made fun of her about it though she always shrugged the mockeries off. Harry, deep within the recesses of his mind, still believed that she was still hurting from those words, despite the looks.

"Harry, that's impossible, to remember an entire encyclopedia's contents," she admonished with a McGonagall-look.

"I thought you did," he shot back.

"Touché," she smiled.

Priscilla snorted.

_Why am I not surprised?_

As they made their way through the tables, Harry nodded a salute to the bartender, who now recognized him as one of his new regulars. He led Hermione and Priscilla to a small table near the shaded windows and ordered some drinks for the three of them. As they made themselves comfortable, Hermione surveyed the settings with a slightly critical eye, as if assessing the surroundings and drawing from them early deductions about Harry's new way of life. Hermione, much to his annoyance, was examining him from the corner of her eyes, as if trying to spot whatever had changed in him and crosschecking them with her own assumptions. It probably was the first time she was ever gifted with the company of a vampire and was doubtlessly wary of it - though she seemed not to repel the sense of trust their friendship commanded from her. She was here to get Harry back and would not shirk away from her self-appointed task.

The waiter came back with their drinks and Harry took his cue to engage his friend in a conversation, attempting to break the awkward silence that had dropped like a mile-wide meteorite between the three of them. Priscilla was oddly silent, like a spectator watching a match of tennis, neither taking sides but just looking and waiting for the outcome.

"So...what about the wizarding world? What happened those past few weeks?" Harry tentatively asked. It didn't help to feel, deep inside, some guilt at asking _that_ question. _If you hadn't decided to run away, Potter, you would have known and you wouldn't be asking away_, a reproachful snarl erupted from the shadows of his mind. _Damn Asmodeus. Always there in my thoughts when he's not needed_, Harry groused.

Hermione took a sip of water and set her glass down on the table and took a deep breath in. "Well," she began with an accusatory tone that made Harry smile apologetically, "your disappearance obviously raised a hell of its own. I've never seen Professor Dumbledore so worried and so restless. When we heard Tonks Apparating into Headquarters screaming like a banshee we knew something wasn't right and when we got downstairs with Ron, Ginny and the Twins," she stopped her story as she saw Harry's eyebrow raising expectantly.

"All of you were already there?"

"Professor Dumbledore thought that if we were to be held close together we would suffer less risks than usual, since the Order lacks really secure, secondary locations that could compete with Grimmauld Place in terms of seclusion and discretion," she explained. "The Burrow's wards had been shifting in intensity quite alarmingly for the past few days so the Weasleys decided to be relocated to Sirius' place." Harry frowned at the name, something that was not lost on Hermione. "Sorry," she apologized.

"Continue," he urged her with a shrug, not eager to pursue THAT matter.

He was still mourning Sirius bringing that up would be like stirring the knife in his yet unhealed wounds and hold them open for more pain to exude.

"Anyway, the Weasleys had been there for at least two weeks, save for Percy, Bill and Charlie. Well, Percy is still alienated from the family, Bill had to go back to Egypt for Gringotts and Charlie is working for the Order in Romania, trying to get the locals to lend us some dragons. Yes, dragons," she clarified. Harry's twitch incited her to explain things before they'd get too confusing. Harry was no savant but he was no idiot either. And ignorance was not an option for him, knowing what had happened last year - though she still was unaware of Harry and Dumbledore's less-than-pleasant chat in the Headmaster's office just after that fateful encounter in the Department of Mysteries. Not knowing important things was like a betrayal for him. "Some of us were quite impressed by the Muggle concept of battle tanks so they decided to take a leaf out of our books," she said with a smile, pleased at the idea of wizards willingly researching about Muggle technology and implementing it into their own habits and ways of life. "And so there we were at Grimmauld Place. Since my parents were to attend a dentistry annual conference in Ireland I had to remain alone in my house and, well, Professor Dumbledore thought it better for me to join the Weasleys. We couldn't send you a letter, though, because there were information leaks."

"What?" Harry breathed, hit by a stab of pain comparable to the one he had suffered from when he had discovered that Pettigrew had the one who had betrayed his parents. "Who - how -" she tried to get but strangled himself with his own anger.

Hermione shushed him as she saw his agitation. "Calm down, Harry, calm down! In fact, it wasn't anyone from the Order." Harry's chest deflated at that but his ire didn't ebb away like she hoped it would.

"But who then-"

_Yeah, who?_

"There was someone else in the mansion, Harry. Not a human being," she explained patiently, though she knew an explosion was imminent and had to brace herself for it. Last year's explosions about her bickering with Ron were bad enough; this was way much more serious than that and, in Harry's case, the term 'deflagration' would render more justice to truth than anything else.

"Kreacher?" Harry spat, his pent-up rage rising bitterly from his entrails like a choking, evil smoke. "Has that little -" he started, before Hermione shook her head negatively, stopping him before he got a chance to voice his tirade. "It wasn't him?"

_Who the fuck then-_

"Kreacher disappeared just after fifth year, Harry. Fortunately, he had his memory wiped by Moody so he couldn't divulge any critical information to the Malfoys and Lestranges, but he still carried his hate towards the Half-bloods and Muggleborns," she answered, finding no comfort in Harry's tight-lipped face and his blazing, crimson eyes that had completely wiped the verdant green color away like a storm would flatten a forest with its sheer force. It didn't help either that his white-knuckled hands were now bearing sharp, serrated claws that seemed eager to draw blood from the nearest prey. Harry saw her increasing fear and looked downwards. With a sheepish "oh," he tried to calm himself. Thirty seconds later, Hermione resumed her tale, relieved by the changes. "There was someone else."

"If it wasn't a human being or a house-elf, then..."

"You don't need to be alive to be conscious or gifted with intelligence, Harry."

"You mean that-" Harry blurted out.

"Mrs. Black's portrait, yes," she admitted. "Apparently, according to Dobby, she has another portrait in Malfoy Manor back in Wiltshire. She has heretofore been feeding tips and hints to her other living relative, Narcissa Malfoy, all year long - therefore to her husband and Voldemort himself." Harry was aghast with the revelation and Priscilla seemed quite worried about that, though it wasn't her business at all. She had no dealings with wizards but she seemed not to agree with peeping toms or spies. The idea didn't bear well with her. "It was only when Professor Dumbledore opened the curtains to her portrait to ask her a question pertaining to the Lestranges that he discovered that the frame was empty and that she was probably talking somewhere away. Since there weren't any other portraits in Grimmauld Place that only meant that she was in a place probably related to the Black family line - and you know who the last saplings of the family tree are," she concluded mournfully. "You should have seen Professors Moody and Dumbledore - they were in such a state..." she trailed off.

"Damn, damn, damn," Harry cursed angrily. "So all that time we've been talking freely she had been eavesdropping on us and BLOODY REPORTING OUR ACTIONS AND TALKS BACK TO MOLDY-FREAKING-WARTS?" he managed not to scream that last sentence, though he was close to do so. Hermione nodded sadly. Harry slouched in his seat, slapping his hands over his face in anger. "Fuck it."

"Language," chided Priscilla, to no effect. Harry was way beyond caring about foul language by then.

"And...no, I don't want to know! I hope they tore her off the wall?" Harry asked, pale-faced (more than usual, truth be said) and shaking with anger.

"No," the bushy-haired witch deadpanned. "The Order took down the entire wall because the portrait couldn't be ripped off its frame and they burnt her somewhere in Wales, where the painting couldn't be retrieved by the Death Eaters. Remus didn't go in any specifics though he hinted that the ashes were thrown over the North Sea by someone flying on a broom. I wonder how they managed to get off the invulnerability spell, though," she trailed off, once again letting free her thirst of knowledge and learning. Harry shook his head. "The thing is, the Order is in complete disarray at the moment - we don't know the extent of the damages and how much information was passed along to the Death Eaters. That was why you couldn't join us either at The Burrow or Grimmauld Place. Not enough security - I was even whisked away, when they discovered Mrs. Black's betrayal, to Tonks' place for a day or two - then I had to go back to my house," she concluded, shaking her head wryly. Harry nodded in understanding, finally getting the gist of the whole situation and realizing why the Order had been so restrictive those past few days prior to his transformation. "But why didn't they tell me?" he questioned, his eyebrows narrowing into a thin line.

Hermione fell silent and squirmed in her seat, obviously wracked with unease. The way she pursed her lips - not like McGonagall did, however - brought another whiff of anger to stream through his mind. "Don't tell me - they didn't want me to worry too much, did they?" he snarled, eyes blazing and arms alarmingly shivering. Hermione looked away in embarrassment and Harry was about to snap another heated comment about Dumbledore's foolishness when a hand collided with his occipital, cutting him off before he got to utter uncouth words. "What-" he sputtered, looking around.

"Ladies present," Priscilla said, rolling her eyes and looking at her fingertips. "An' keep yar temper in check, Harry."

"Okay, okay - no need to use me as a punching ball, though," he replied grouchily, massaging the itching spot. Priscilla shrugged and turned back to a still silent Hermione. "An' what else?" she pressed on, taking for once the initiative.

"We still don't know - the Order has split up because of the security breaches. They're considering relocating to another Fidelius-charmed area like the old Hemwade House or the Narrowden Hall - old places belonging to former Order members and lent to us for the war. Since there were attempts to break into the Ministry through the Polyjuice, everyone is quite jumpy - especially Moody since he had a very bad memory of...well, you know," she trailed off with a small smile, remembering sadly what had occurred in fourth year. Harry nodded and grabbed his drink, taking a gulp to quench the fire burning in his stomach, threatening to burst away and consume him with a rage lusting for revenge and repayment of fifteen, nearly sixteen years of ordeals and unhappiness.

_I wonder if there's a gunsmith in this town? Would like to blow Moldy Warts' balls away with a shotgun...ooh, yeah. Peppered meatballs for dinner, Moldie! Enjoy the menu! All fresh and carbonized! Not healthy, though!_

"Look like the whole situation is totaled, isn't it?" Harry asked sarcastically. Priscilla eyed the two teenagers with a look that someone might have taken as tuned down interest and chugged what remained of her own beverage. "Can't be worse than World War II, Harry," she sighed pointedly. "Anyway, it seems, youn' lady," she smiled at Hermione, who retreated somewhat in her seat - for she still was not at ease with a vampire's company, even if the said individual was Harry's friend, "that ya aren't bringin' bright news ta yar friend. What're tha' good ones?"

She fidgeted in her seat, suddenly interested in the floor's tiling. "None?" Priscilla asked with a raised eyebrow.

"None that I can think of," Hermione whispered, admitting the sad situation and her unspoken defeat.

Harry smirked discreetly, a sign that wasn't missed by his female companion. "Somethin' worth laughin', Harry?" the vampire asked. Hermione looked up in surprise, blinking so fast that she could be mistaken for an airplane's distress beacon or the small, Hollywood-like lamp of a bomb ticking its countdown away.

"No," Harry replied, running a hand through his long hair and keeping his lips twitched in a sardonic fashion. "I was just thinking that _that _was one of Voldemort's worst weapons, if one bothers to look back through time," he clarified nonchalantly. Hermione blinked again, not getting the point. "What?"

"Despair. Fear. Pessimism. Discouragement," Harry answered simply. "Rob actuality from all its good news and shower everyone with news of deaths, disappearances and such. Make them fear future. It isn't very much different from what mister Weasley told us at the Quidditch Stadium in fourth year, is it, Hermione?" he asked. Hermione nodded. Asmodeus' voice came back to him, unwelcome though eerily truthful.

_'Why do you think there were so much deaths during that weakling Voldemort's first arising? Because your average wizard was so _afraid_ of using dark curses or send a simple_ cutting hex _at the Death Eaters and was unable to appropriately fight back! In the end they believed they were overpowered because they didn't know all the defenses against the Dark Arts. And again, why? Because knowing them implied actually LEARNING the Dark Arts! And they were oh so scared of _becoming dark _that they stayed adamantly _away _from that field of magic and nourished their belief that Death Eaters were unquestionably SUPERIOR. Do you hear that, Potter? They were DEAD even before FIGHTING! Because they _gave up beforehand'

"He's making us lose hope. Spread panic through the masses. Shock the public opinion. Terrorize them. Make them feel like they're ready to die and unable to fight back."

"Sounds like yar equivalent of a Blitzkrieg," Priscilla commented with a quirked eyebrow. Harry chuckled at the comparison. "Yeah, in a way - though it's more like a battle of the trenches than anything else. Both parts start moving for, let's say, two, three days and then get embroiled in a static war that is eating them away without distinction. Both keep firing at each other but neither of the two is winning. But...in the long run...they get exhausted and rasher than before."

"But, I thought you hated History?" Hermione asked, bemused. "You always sleep at Binns' classes!" she accused him. "Don't tell me you were faking!"

"There's a difference between Muggle and wizarding History, Hermione," Harry mumbled. "I enjoyed Muggle History, not Binns' lullabies. He's worse than a shrieking mandrake, do you know that? At least with the plant your death is quick and merciful. With Binns," he stopped as the brown-haired witch socked him in the arm. "Sorry. That was uncalled for," he apologized as he saw her glowering look.

"Well, at least he seems ta pay a lot o' attention ta history and science books," commented Priscilla with a smirk. "Riflin' through tha' aisles for some readin' material. Been changin' attitudes?"

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I'm always studious when I _need _the knowledge or am _interested _in it! If someone teaches me in a boring fashion then I'm not that eager to learn! I want to die _old_ not on a classroom's bench!"

"Oh?" Priscilla's grin grew wider. "Is that why you're so happy each time I mention Modie's name?" she teased him mercilessly. "Mmmh...should tell him that," she smirked mischievously, her eyes glinting.

"Cilia...!" Harry said through clenched teeth. Hermione's head was snapping from one interlocutor to the other, like a spectator watching a tennis match and the ball flying from one side of the court to the other. She seemed quite peeved by the closeness the two vampires shared, probably because Priscilla had somehow replaced her and/or Ron in Harry's heart.

"Chill it, fang-boy," she laughed, waving her hand at him. Harry slunk back in his chair before turning back to Hermione, who had ordered a new 'summer special' cocktail from the barman.

"And...back to business...what about the Ministry? How are those idiots faring?" he inquired, his eyes narrowing at the institution's mention and already guessing the answer.

Hermione made the contents of her drink swirl, admiring the colors of the beverage change under the lighting. She didn't seem to be very familiar with cocktails and such. "Well...bad." She began counting on her fingers. "There are credibility and authority issues, an information crisis, lacks of manpower, inner conflicts, media problems..."

"The throes of war," shrugged Priscilla. Hermione threw her a 'if-there's-more-obvious-than-that-you-die' look and resumed her tale.

"The Death Eaters have also been spreading false rumors here and there, which make the situation all the more difficult to handle. They once sent an emergency call from Sussex, in a small agglomeration, to lure the Aurors in. As soon as the Ministry's men Apparated _in_, the few Death Eaters present Apparated _out_ and led with the rest of their troops an all-out attack in Wessex - and the Aurors were unable to be notified of the change of plans and answer swiftly. There were two or three cases like this but after a moment it stopped because the Aurors decided to send, beforehand, an avant-garde and keep the rest of the troops at the Ministry, in case it was a trap to mislead them and the attack took place elsewhere. The Ministry went through every type of pain in the world to keep it under wraps. Fortunately the Muggles noticed nothing but the word got out anyway in the wizarding world."

"Getting smarter, are they?" Harry whispered wryly.

"And that's not the end of it - Voldemort has made his henchmen throw wild rumors and other false information here and there. First it was false battles here and there to confuse people and make them think that it was an large-scale war. Diagon Alley missed being mobbed one day when another of those hearsays came out, about how Birmingham had been invaded and leveled to the ground - which was obviously a complete lie. The Death Eaters took to opportunity to Apparate in and kill a few bystanders, enough to spread panic, then Apparate out. In consequence, Diagon Alley is now nearly completely deserted. Very few dare to go there nowadays."

"Divide and conquer, eh?" Harry commented bitterly, remembering how most of the Alley's businesses had been closed when he had paid Gringotts a visit that day.

"That's what Moody said. He's dividing the society but forcing it to remain scattered, its members far away from help. Silent. And then, two weeks ago, a senior official was wrongly sent to Azkaban because Death Eaters had..._slipped out_...inadvertently, of course," she said with a desolate shake of the head, "that he was a supporter of the dark side. The Aurors were so enraged that they didn't even bother giving him Veritaserum to verify the facts and see if they were true. When they retrieved him from his cell he was badly dehydrated, one third insane and now has to spend an entire month at St. Mungo. His family sued the government and _that_ had cost Fudge a lot in his peers' eyes. He's become the wizarding world's laughing stock."

"Bloody hell - another fuck-up - just like Sirius," Harry spat, growing restless. Hermione bit her lip and resumed her tale. "The Daily Prophet soon caught hold of the story and published it. You can't believe the uproar it caused," she said sadly. "There were calls for rebellion here and there, some of them emanating from purebloods who wanted somebody more...well, stronger. More influential." Harry did a double take at this and his eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't tell me they're trying to put a Malfoy-look-alike at Fudge's place!" he blurted out disbelievingly. Hermione's weak nod was enough to make his body temperature rise a couple notches and his facial muscles to contort in a furious scowl.

_Temper, Potter_, came unbidden the taunting voice of Asmodeus Latifas, mocking his lack of restraint.

"That's what Professor Dumbledore thinks, at least, but some of them are truly scared of Voldemort. They'd prefer to conserve their powers within the entire institution rather than bow to the Dark Lord - so logically they'd side with us but only because of the circumstances. Otherwise they wouldn't say no to having a pureblood at the head of England's wizarding world," she explained, sipping from her drink. "The Wizengamot hasn't been able to made amendments and pass new laws lately - they're all in panic. Every time they tried to convene the whole council Voldemort's name and deeds would spring up and everyone would start shouting at each other. Even Professor Dumbledore is at a loss so as to what to do. Everybody's losing control, Harry."

"No shit," he deadpanned. Hermione frowned at the choice of language but said nothing. "It's as if all their darkest fears are becoming reality, isn't it?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow. He gazed at the brightly lit ceiling pensively, not waiting for her confirmation. "Not unpredictable."

"Harry - you have to come back," Hermione said, wringing her hands, her face pleading and exuding despair. Her expectant, torn face wrenched his heart out of his chest, spewing remorse all around him like a fountain of rotten blood. "Everyone's worried about you. Ron, the Twins, Remus...you need to return to us."

"Do you think my coming back would alleviate their plight?" he demanded with a pointed look. Hermione stared back with incredulity, not daring to believe what she had just heard. "Harry!" she nearly cried. "Can't you see it - if you don't come back to fight-" she began, starting to panic. Her hands were on the table and she was leaning forward - unconsciously giving Harry a nice view of her cleavage but he was too lost in his thoughts to notice that anyway. She seemed aghast with the idea - for what it sounded like, at least.

"Then allow me to rephrase it," Harry amended. "Do you think that I necessarily need to _show up_ while _indeed_ returning?" he tried with a small smile. Hermione blinked and frowned. "What do you mean-" she started, her agitation still not abated. Harry held up a hand, trying to placate her. He noticed the rather enticing sight in front of him and quickly looked away while trying not to blush overmuch and cause her too much embarrassment. "Look," he interrupted. "How do you think people would react with my being a vampire?" he asked simply, his eyes shining with grim expectation.

Hermione's mouth opened and closed like a goldfish out of water and she sunk back in her chair, sighing loudly - a blatant admission of surrender. An armistice towards Fate. On the other side, Harry let out his breath as Hermione's position returned to a more...acceptable one, decency wise. "The fact is, Hermione, Voldemort would take my new status as a _weapon_ against me. He'd say that I, too, _chose _the darkness instead of the light - even if I had no say in it. From a hero's I'd fall to the level of a pariah. No matter how much people rely on me. The secular grudge against vampires is still too high to _not_ be reckoned with. So it's best if I do not...err...how can I say this...?" he erred again, struggling to find the appropriate wording for the idea that had been mulling inside his mind for a fortnight now.

"You want to go underground," Hermione said simply, her face blank but still rimmed with resigned sadness - filled with a now utterly forlorn hope. "You don't want to come back as Harry Potter but as a stranger," she stated.

"I knew I could always count on your _superb_ intelligence, miss Granger," Harry said cheekily, delighted by her cleverness and delighted by the opening she had provided. Hermione smacked him in the arm, the outlines of a smile forming on her lips but the sadness still floating through her irises. "That's for Professor McGonagall to say, Harry!" she chuckled. "Not you!"

"Thanks to compare me to an old, batty-looking woman, Hermione," Harry said with mock-miffed expression. "I'm not a swot, thank you!"

This time she let out a clear laugh, the tones sounding like a song to Harry's oversensitive ears. God, how he had missed to hear her...it was like rediscovering a treasure buried a long time ago and lost for decades. An oasis in the desert. A billion dollars found on an abandoned highway. "Well, _that_ is true! Always speaking about Quidditch and-"

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted. "So...what do you think?"

"I'm not sure-" she started, before Harry sighed and held his hand up. "Okay, let's try this. You'll be the devil's advocate, I'll be my own defendant. How's that? Up to it? Give me all the reasons for my _not coming back in broad daylight _that come to your mind."

Hermione was rather confused by the proposition but her intelligence seemed to have been seduced by the challenge, which she apparently took up quite willingly - if not eagerly, perceptibly enthused by the prospect of breaking down every one of his arguments and showing him the right way. She pursed her lips and leant forward in determination. "Okay. What do you have against my plan?" Harry asked, arms crossed and a smile tugging at his lips. On the other side of the table, Priscilla appeared to be highly amused by the two's antics, her eyes glittering in badly concealed and unspoken mirth. In the back of her pupils Harry could spot the anticipation raging silently as she knew what _really_ was going on at the moment. Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully then started.

"Okay - then my first argument. People will lose hope if they don't see you back. If you return they'll be able to regain hope and will most likely fight back - they won't despair!" she said, forehead crinkled with sternness and concentration. Harry tilted his head sideways and rose his eyebrows. "Correction, Hermione. What they want to see back is not Harry Potter but a _savior._ They wouldn't care much if I was called Nestor or Winnifred as long as I am someone who shows success against the Death Eaters and their owner. I'm an icon to them. Nothing more, nothing less. What they truly need is someone marking points against the Dark Side, not someone who likes to make the cover for _Witch Weekly _or speak twenty-four seven about his life on the W.W.N. The charisma thing is okay but you won't fend Death Eaters off by smiling at them or offering autographs. By the way, if I were to...disappear and...someone else were to appear with the same, say, rate of success and amount of power, the people's expectancies will shift from one side to the other and _not_ waver. Besides, you saw how many of the other students reacted towards me or behaved at the end of fifth year," he explained darkly, reminiscing their awed, reverent looks. "They'll all latch onto me like a lifeline. It'll make the whole business all the more difficult. They'll expect me to do their job. I want them to be trained. Not to always rely on me. They'll grow dependent. That was one of the reasons why the DA was created, wasn't it? To offer each of its members the ability to respond against dark menaces as best as they could? To fight on one's own? The DA can survive without me, even if it lacks a charismatic figure. You, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville have shown you could survive and defeat Death Eaters so you can't be distrusted and denied leadership while I'll be gone underground."

Hermione didn't seem to agree with that. The way she was wringing her hands told Harry so and it sure did help to have a mind working in overdrive because of increased endocrinal activity, isn't it? That was what Priscilla was so entertained about - Harry's newfound cleverness and sharpness. For once he was mentally on par with Hermione - or slightly under, since she still remained _Hermione_, bookworm extraordinaire, evil invader of libraries and living encyclopedia. And...by the by...wasn't knowledge a synonym of power? Sure, Harry came nowhere as near to her in terms of knowledge but his mind worked faster. Sometimes too much, in his opinion. He would soon, Harry thought, regret that blissful ignorance all men shared when it came to living with women. Unless the said women were also vampires and caught up with him or kept their intellectual head start intact. Otherwise...

In the meantime, his faster working neurons provided him with the wherewithal to get the gist of a situation or subject more easily than before, but, as Priscilla said, a quick mind was no synonym of intelligence. For all people could care, it would just mean that vampires could blunder faster than before, which wasn't a comforting thought in the least.

On another side, Harry's newly gained mental sharpness also helped him spending time with Asmodeus without snapping - though sweat, blood and strength were to be painfully lost in the process. The older vampire's sharpened, snappish and highly calculating mind forced his interlocutors to be on intellectual par with him; most of the time he infuriated his contemporaries too much to let them continue speaking pacifically. Truth be said, Asmodeus seemed to secretly cherish belligerent-sounding and ironic chats instead of trivial and good-natured discussions - hence his constant provocations to 'spice' matters. Harry, like everyone else, seemed to have fallen for the trap more than a dozen times and still counting, but strangely, Asmodeus didn't look like willing to 'grace' Priscilla with that type of attitude, as if he was tuning down his behavior for her.

"What about your friends? They need you! _I_ need you!" Hermione said with a blush blossoming through her cheeks. "Ron needs you! The DA needs you! You can't let us down like that!" she said imploringly.

_Can't say I didn't expect it. That was the argument I feared the most. Here I go, straight into the battle zone..._

"Nice try, Hermione," Harry conceded, his smile faltering. "But I'd only make you immediate targets of Moldy Shorts by remaining near you," he explained, shushing her with a raised finger. "But...imagine the possibility that I am to _completely_ disappear...and apparently - and I know news travel faster than light at Hogwarts, even with the Slytherins - my friends and closest acquaintances don't know at all about my whereabouts. Why would the Dark Lord hold you as main, need-to-be-killed-immediately targets? He wants to control the wizarding society first. By controlling Hogwarts he wouldn't achieve much. By seizing the Ministry he'd do giant leaps - lay hands on money, communications, information...everything. He'll concentrate on the government and famous figures of the resistance. I'm one of those. You and Ron are just...sidekicks, in Voldemort's opinion. I was able to resist him in a duel but you were incapacitated before you got to see him so he'll believe you are unworthy of his consideration." Hermione seemed ready to bristle at that but once again, Harry's finger kept her seated and silent. "Dumbledore would be like a large bull's-eye strutting in front of the school. If YOU keep silent Voldie won't come to take you out. If you start screaming _'Malfoy and Voldie, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G'_ then he _will_, assuredly, stomp his way up to you while shooting Killing Curses left and right and grumbling about disrespect towards the elders."

_Not to mention he'd put the Cruciatus on you before actually getting to smother the life out of you. After all, he isn't known for being open to humor and music, isn't it? When I saw him come back he wasn't wearing a Bob Marley tee-shirt and some Bruce Springsteen shorts...while singing Abba's _'Dancing Queen'

"What makes you think we aren't already targets, Harry?" Hermione whispered, appalled by the idea but still resolute to get her friend back. "We've fought in the Department of Mysteries against his henchmen - so why shouldn't he consider us as obstacles in his path? And we are _your_ friends, Harry!"

"What's the first to take out? What is the greater danger? An Auror or a Hogwarts' student? What, on the sidelines, is Voldemort's first priority? Throw the Ministry over or have a seat on the School's governor board? Or even become Headmaster of Hogwarts?" Harry smirked nonchalantly. "First edict: 'all purebloods will have ice creams for free on Sundays while the mudbloods must scrub Filch's room during Wednesdays and sing 'Rule, Britannia' all over the Quidditch stadium dressed in undies only." Priscilla was now sniggering openly while Hermione had her head between her hands, shaking her head regretfully. "Harry-"

_And we'd have to call him 'Professor Voldemort'...how repulsive_, Harry thought, slipping into his 'daydream' mode.

_'Professor Voldemort - could I-' asked a student._

_'No! Crucio!' The Dark Lord sullenly leveled his wand and cast the curse. Screams soon rose in the classroom, making the other students shiver uncontrollably._

_'AAARGH! But-' The unfortunate student protested weakly, his body still set aflame by the dark spell._

_'Keep reading, insolent brat! Crucio, Crucio and Crucio!' Voldemort hissed in irritation. The screams got louder, the pain in them unbearable to hear. Even the castle's new caretaker, Lucius Malfoy (who had replaced Filch since he had the misfortune to point out to his master that Hitler and Stalin were statistically worse and deadlier than him) looked queasy at the terrible treatment the headmaster was inflicting on his few, well-chosen students._

_'AAAAAARGHHH! I just wanted to go to the toilet!' Well, too late, now._

"Sorry. Got overboard. Must be Asmodeus' influence," Harry added to Priscilla, who snickered at him in response. "Anyway, you MAY be one of his targets but not the first. If he wants to strike hard, he'll hit someone really famous. Like me. Or madam Bones. Why not Krum? Or the Weird Sisters, for example? In the meantime, you'll have time to prepare yourself for a good fight. That's what the DA was meant for. And I'll be looking out for you, I swear. Next argument, please," he told Hermione, who now bore an exasperated look.

"Okay, since you seem so dead-set AGAINST those ideas, how about your education? Throw a whole year at Hogwarts for-"

"Huh?" Harry blinked in surprise. That was not Serious-Hermione who was talking but Studious-Hermione. Quite a change. "Hermione, remember last year?" he said, shutting his eyes in slight annoyance at the memories. "Umbridge was as useful to us as a watermill in the Sahara desert. I don't know WHO the DADA teacher will be this year but I won't trust him with my life," he declared forcefully, hammering his words to get his point across. "Second, what does Binns have to teach me and will be useful to me the second I will kill Voldie? The power to bore the Dark Lord to death with a political analysis of the two hundredth, ninety-seventh Goblin Rebellion?"

_Bet you ten Firebolts she's gonna correct my-_

"There were only sixt-" Hermione began indignantly, the student in her taking over.

_Gotcha!_

"That's not the point, Hermione," Harry mock-sobbed. "My first priority is to _stay alive_. I don't plan on seeing Voldemort barge in our classroom one day and on having to tell him 'care to come back later? I got exams with Snape, thanks'. I plan on _beating the holy heck out of him at first sight._ Second, Hogwarts' curriculum is mostly made of unimportant things. Sure, Transfiguration can be useful; sure, charms will come in handy; sure, potions will be invaluable against poisons and for healing. But I'll lose my time being taught less-than-important things while I could easily have learnt life-saving spells in the meantime. Or trained myself into a new Terminator, wizard version." Priscilla now was bent over in silent laughter, obviously efficiently entertained by Harry's little jokes. Picturing Harry wearing shades and speaking with Schwarzenegger's voice was obviously too much for her. _I'll be back_, Harry rasped mentally, while toting a heavy-caliber pistol. Hermione, on the other part, was trying to keep the discussion serious and centered around the previous subjects, which called for no humor at all but utter, nearly solemn, rational dedication. "I could make up for the lost lessons later, though. As long as you don't start bludgeoning me to hell and gone for dropping courses. I get enough reprimands from Cilia as it is," he said, shooting a glance to a smirking Priscilla. "But rest assured, I _am _being trained at the moment in vampiric abilities. I'll delve deeper in combat techniques - I promise." _Wonder if I should mention to her Asmodeus' apprenticeship. Mmmh. Maybe later this day._

"What about Professor Dumbledore and the Order?" she proposed stubbornly, a gleam of defiance raging in her eyes.

"You stated the counterarguments not even ten minutes ago, Hermione. They're in disarray. They lack security. They may be a powerful group but they aren't perfect." He tugged at his collar and pointed at his throat, his eyes narrowing. "You saw the effects. Besides, there's also my being a vampire. As I said they'll start peeing in their pants the second they'll learn about my nature," he hissed. "Even Hagrid, who's more open to...half-breeds and other magical creatures, wasn't showing a great deal of trust towards our...kind. Remember how he told us about that 'slight' disagreement he had with a vampire in Minsk on his way to the giants' community? _That_, Hermione, tells me more than a thousand encyclopedias written by Einstein clones. Besides, I don't think that the Order has what I need right now." He stopped for a moment, examining his drink, before leaning back, watching the other patrons in the building going about their business without second thoughts. "Allegiances shifted. Priorities changed. I'm a Nightstalker, Hermione. A vampire. No longer a human being. What a vampire requires can't be that easily found within the wizarding world." He pointed at the surroundings, his arms encompassing the whole room. "But, here, I have everything at my disposition. I'm training. I'm working. What's wrong with it? I'm willing to go back to the wizarding world, fine. I'm willing to fight, fine again. I don't want to meet the Order anymore, and you say 'jack shit'? Hermione, you have to realize that things aren't the same anymore, as sad as one can see it," he said desolately.

_And it doesn't limit itself to my haircut, by the way..._

Hermione looked on the verge of tears at that. Harry leant forward, taking her chin with two fingers and holding her head up to face him. She blushed lightly but didn't break eye contact. "Hermione, you...I hope you don't believe I'm abandoning you, do you?" he asked softly, his voice dropping to a whisper. Priscilla's features became taut, losing all their liveliness. It seemed that she was a bit sensitive about that subject, too - as it reminded her about the friends she had had to forsake because of her vampirism. _Life is nothing but a rollercoasting leitmotiv, Cilia. Its message may change everyday like you said, but its lessons remain the same, as bitter and painful as before. Unavoidable as well as full of resignation._

"Hermione?"

"You were gone so long," she whispered vehemently. Harry didn't answer for she still had to let the pain out. "Not a single word, Harry James Potter! Nothing!" she spat before sighing desperately and burying her head between her hands. "And now you want to go away, again? Don't you understand that all of us just _need_ you, Harry? You aren't the Boy-Who-Lived! Just Harry-Bloody-James-Potter!" she continued, her eyes drowning in a barely contained frenzy. "Here I am, finally finding you and all...all you want to..." she choked, strangled by a growing anger billowing in her entrails.

_'Hath hath no fury...' Anyone care to continue my thought before she kills me?_

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice this time slightly harder. "I'm not going away. Period. I'm staying. Period, too. I'm just _changing tactics_. Do you know what happened in Dumbledore's office just after the battle? We had a few choice words, him and I. Well, mostly from my part - I was doing all the work while he was trying to get me silent. We weren't on the best terms but choice words anyway, ones that a long time coming. What I heard didn't please me at all. You know," he lapsed a bit. "There's a saying that says, 'what you don't know won't kill you'. You know what?" he asked her, his face blank. She shook her head negatively. Priscilla took a sip of her drink, still silent. "It's the biggest lie I've ever heard. Yeah, the Ravenclaws would be overjoyed to hear me agreeing to the fact that 'knowledge is power'. Had Dumbledore told me at the end of the year that Voldemort wanted to extract information out of me, use my body through the mind-link and force me to go to the Department of Mysteries," his voice cracked, "Sirius...would...still be alive," he got out difficultly. Priscilla put her hand on top of his, soothing him wordlessly. She knew the signs as she seemingly had experienced them before. Personally. "We wouldn't have been attacked and wounded. I was kept in the dark, Hermione. I was left to wonder and fend for myself. Had he given me the choice to fight and be aware of what awaited me, I think the outcome would have been different." He wasn't ready to divulge the contents of the Prophecy yet as it still was a painful subject to talk about; each time he started thinking about it his mind would be filled with a gloom so thick and sticky it resembled a filthy type of glue, from which he couldn't get away no matter how hard he tried to think about something else.

"I'm sure of it," he concluded. "And...well, I started thinking about it when I came back to the Dursleys," he admitted unwillingly. "I was still distraught about Sirius' loss but still, I wondered how everything would have turned out had I taken matters in my own hands instead of letting others take care of them in my stead. It'd have left me with less bad surprises to be pelted with, I assure you. So...I began thinking about acting on my own. Not to trust Dumbledore or any other loose cannon. Just myself. Act for myself. Besides, Dumbledore and I have trust issues, despite his promise to mend the relationship between the two of us. He knew everything from the start yet said nothing to me," he said bitterly, resentment rolling around and crashing like a tidal wave through his words. "So...I'm sorry but the Order's efficiency and good will have become liabilities in my opinion. And I'm sure that Dumbledore would still keep things away from me if he deemed them to be unbearable or risky. Remember what he said? Something among the lines, 'truth is a beautiful thing, yes, but to treated with a lot of caution'. He deemed it dangerous and I got hurt more than everything else because of it. He LIED to me. He kept me in the fucking DARKNESS. That's not what I want."

_Otherwise I'll make him eat his beard. Without salt. And with lots of Tabasco. And a Molotov cocktail as a drink._

He stared back at her, his eyes veiled. Both of them paused for a whole minute, the silence between them stretching inexorably.

"What about Ron? And Remus, for that part? They were worried out of their bones, do you know that? Remus even had to be given a sedative so that he wouldn't storm out of Grimmauld Place and look for you - he was still sick because of the full moon." That piece of news was like a punch to his guts, stripping him from his breath. Remus was now the last Marauder still alive and having witnessed two of his friends pass towards the Hereafter and the third betraying the three others should have been the worst torture ever. Moony had very little and asked for even less; he now had probably lost whatever was left to him. Ostracized because of his lycanthropy and consequently denied any type of job, he had barely had the means to survive under the prejudices and slander. The wizarding world was too biased to dismiss his illness that easily and grant him the right to live in peace.

"I believe you have me somewhat cornered, Hermione," admitted Harry with a tiny smile, making his classmate's heart skip a beat in relief. His grin faded, however, as he remembered what she had just said. "But I do intend to send them letters when the time will be right, to let them know I'm okay. For the moment, I'm still trying to rebuild my life. I can cope with what I'm going through at the moment but adding other burdens like the task of answering to them and breaking the news that I'm a vampire to them isn't what I plan to do. Especially, now that you've told me about it, Remus." He shook his head regretfully. "Knowing that he's also coping with Sirius' loss..." he whispered and Hermione nodded weakly, albeit reluctantly.

"And Hogwarts? The safest place in the wizarding world after Gringotts? The teachers can provide protection with the help of its magical wards! Why don't you-" Hermione shot back, growing frantic. Priscilla prevented her from springing to her feet by setting a hand on her tensed arm; the young witch recoiled imperceptibly from the touch, quite unnerved by the coldness permeated by the bleached skin.

_Did you feel it, Hermione? That's our coldness. A vampire's warmth. That's a preview of death. Why don't you understand what is at hand? Why can't you accept it?_

"Hermione," Harry interrupted with a chuckle. "Open mouth. Insert foot," he deadpanned, making her gape in confusion. He tutted and smirked at her. "First year: Quirrell plus Troll. Second year? Basilisk and little ole smiley Lockhart. Third year? Sirius managing to enter Gryffindor tower, though he wasn't a danger but the fact remains that such a feat is possible, and...the Dementors. Fourth year? Barty Crouch junior and the Portkey." His voice grew darker by the second as he enunciated each year and each subsequent case. On the other side of the table, Hermione slouched lower and lower in her seat, her eyes veiled by an expression of forlorn hope. "Fifth year? Umbridge and the Slytherins. Do you call that a place of _safety_? A _shelter_? A _haven_? Jesus, Hermione, Hogwarts attracts trouble to itself like honey beckons the bees to rush in. If you really want me to remain safe and sound then I'll have to go away from the source of trouble. _Ergo_, stay away from Hogwarts."

"Then - then - then what about your protection?" Hermione half-choked.

_Ah, now for the two-million dollar question. Jackpot, Hermione._

"What type o' protection? Is there somethin' I need ta know?" Priscilla butted in suddenly, batting her eyelashes teasingly and startling the two teenagers out of their dolefulness. The three remained silent for a moment, the two younger ones looking wide-eyed at the older vampire then Hermione began turning a nice shade of crimson and Harry's laughter finally broke out like water at long last released from an old sluice. The bushy-haired witch now looked like the epitome of indignation. How, indeed, could those two take the whole subject so trivially when people were walking on a sword's edge around them? "Harry!" she scolded, eyes blazing warningly. "It's _not _funny! How-"

"Sorry. We're both like that, in a way," he apologized, patting Priscilla's arm affectionately. He was grateful for the joke as it had whisked away the heavy, choking atmosphere that had surrounded them with a vengeance. Hermione no longer had tears brimming in her eyes and he was comforted by that sight. The female vampire, for her part, was still lost in her muffled snickers, hands clasped in front of her face. Her eyes were blurting out 'so easy'. "Sorry. So, where were we? Ah, yes. Protection. Do you realize that..." _I shouldn't talk to her about the prophecy, _he reminded himself. The mentioned of the accursed artifact that had cost him his godfather's life brought his smile down three notches, decreasing the mood sensibly, to Priscilla's and Hermione's hidden surprise. _She's not ready yet and I'm not either. By the way, that type of knowledge is exactly what would kill her. _"...In a way, I'm entitled to kill _him_? I fear that is how it will end, Hermione. No discussion. I know it will all come down to that. A last showdown. For _him _to prove his superiority and get his most dangerous adversaries out of the picture he'll target the biggest targets, like Dumbledore and me. So whether you want it or not, I'm in this mess from toe to neck and no chance from getting out. I'll have to _fight_ him, Hermione. That means risking my life. Where's protection in all of this? And did you remember fourth and fifth year?" he asked darkly. "I came close to losing my life even in Hogwarts' midst. I'm safe _nowhere_, except in the places I'm expected the least. Like the vampire community," he smiled softly. "Besides, vampires are stronger than human beings but they are rarer and unwilling to participate in wizarding business, so..."

Hermione sighed; she was losing the battle and she knew it. Besides, as she had had many times over the leisure of discovering it during the past five years, her logic and intelligence couldn't hold their ground against a determined Harry Potter. Even her now renowned, trademark Cartesian reasoning had but little to no effect against his 'hero complex', as many put it. She had seen it last year, just before they had flown away to the Ministry of Magic, running towards the sharpest turn in Harry's life. "You really are determined to have it your way, aren't you?" she asked softly, looking away. Harry saw her eyes darken and touched her arm, forcing her to look back at him.

_Like I ever had anything my way in my life...so...?_

"Hermione..." Harry began with no small amount of difficulty, finding the next part hard to voice. "There's also the fact that the moment I'll return to the wizarding world...I'll become an immediate target. I'll be followed, spied upon, watched...targeted. I'll be more of a nuisance than a help. No, Hermione - let me finish," he cut her off before she got the chance to deny his statement. "My role would be purely...symbolic? Yeah, I guess that's the term that fits the most. A beacon of hope. But a true fighter for the Light? Dumbledore would never allow me to fight against Death Eaters, even if it's my destiny." He decided not to deepen his thoughts as he saw Hermione frown quizzically at his words. "The fact is that, if I am to return, Hermione, I want to _fight_. Not stay back and just wait for the brunt of the storm to come and wash me away. I want to go face those who have killed my parents and all those people..." he whispered coldly, his voice dripping with white-hot rage. Hermione saw his arms be enshrouded by floating wisps of darkness and froze, growing scared by the eerie sight. "I want to end this as soon as possible. But I won't allow anybody to shield my eyes from the horrors of war. I want to see it in person, not through another's tales or memories. I want to witness it firsthand. And act."

"Harry..." Hermione whimpered, terrified by the eddying Shadowcloak that threatened to burst forth and smother his entire body in a mantle of terror. Harry saw her predicament and concentrated, delving in the recesses of his mind and stretching his perceptions to subdue his anger through his rudimentary notion of Occlumency. Priscilla's meditation exercises had also helped him focus more onto specific subjects - something that aided him in harnessing his then wayward powers. "Sorry -"

"What was that?" she stammered, still shell-shocked by what she had beheld.

"Shadowcloak," Harry grinned enthusiastically. "I'll explain later. A form of camouflage, if you want," he clarified as he saw her eyebrows fuse together when he equivocated. "Anyway, I think I'd be more useful were I to go...underground, as you put it so perfectly," he smiled appreciatively. "I've been training."

_And I don't want to tell the tale, thanks. No need to relate the evil tortures he put me through!_

Hermione's face then flooded with curious excitement. "Really? Whom with?" she asked eagerly. "What did you learn-"

"He's a vampire. An ex-Auror," Harry answered simply, with a wave of his hand - telling her that she needn't know anything else. He wasn't sure Asmodeus would have approved disclosing secret information to someone, after all, who had close links with the Order of the Phoenix. From what he had heard and seen, Harry could tell that the Nightslasher and Dumbledore's group weren't on the best terms and probably shared very negative memories and feelings towards each other. "I've been training to become a Nightslasher," he continued. "That's the equivalent of an Auror, but with fangs," he beamed, elongating his canines to emphasize his point; he felt the urge to laugh merrily as he saw her shiver the second she spotted the lengthened teeth peering out. "R-really?" she squeaked weakly.

"Yep!" he cheered.

"Okay. I'll take your word for it," she declared, trying to get herself together.

"Look, Harry," Priscilla interrupted, looking at her wristwatch, "I'll hafta go back ta tha' bookshop, ta keep business open, 'kay? I'll leave ya here with yar friend," she said, her eyes belying her determination _not _to let Harry offer to accompany her back and resume his work. _Cross me and you'll be eating slugs tonight_, her face said. _Dare to contradict me? Okay, but you'll be sleeping on the roof._ "Then we'll join again here or at _The Blue Starlight_, how's that?" she asked, referring to another discotheque they were well acquainted with, especially in terms of food. Or, more exactly, drinks.

Red-colored drinks, to be even more precise.

Harry pondered about it for two seconds then agreed. "Right, then, I'll see ya in...two hours an' a half. See ya, ya two, have fun!" she grinned before slapping a one-pound note on the table and taking her leave. Harry watched her get out of the building and closed his eyes, rendered nervous by the heavy silence building between the pair. After fidgeting in his seat for an excruciating ten minutes spent on nothing but daintily sipping on their drinks, Harry broke the stillness by saying, "should we go out?"

Hermione started in surprise and nodded, swiftly recovering her composure. "Yeah, why not?"

Obviously, there were some remaining things that needed to be patched before it was too late. Maybe it was the fact that they were now just two, the two members of a world foundering in a sea of death and destruction, lined with sorrow and despair, that caused their voice boxes to remain unmoving and bask in the lingering muteness. Maybe it was also because the two of them didn't know yet how to deal with each other as their common denominator, their humanity, didn't link them as it once did anymore. Harry was a vampire and behaved differently; she was a witch and she was hesitant about his new ideas.

Had Harry been someone else and behind them, he would have said, "you're both fucked up in the head, do you know that?" while chuckling in amusement.

But of course once you're plunged in that particular situation, there was nothing to laugh about the whole situation and the comment held no longer any humor .

Just the quintessence of mankind's never-ending misfortune.

Awkwardly, the two stood up and made their way through the door, once again washed over by the piercing rays of the midday sun. "I know a...somewhat peaceful area. A park. Do you...?" Harry tried.

"Oh...okay. Let's go," she said, beckoning him to show her the way. And they began their trip through the town.

They walked through Gainsborough Street, which was one of Little Whinging's oldest arteries and still held some of those famous, Victorian-era Peabody houses, named after that great industrialist and philanthropist who decided to donate his money to many a noble cause, earning himself the gratitude of countless citizens, including that of the Queen herself. Though the town was quite new and had thrived through the seventies thanks to its position on the border of London's commuter belt, Little Whinging still remained a very quiet abode, made of residential zones, all of which smelt of peace and quiet. On the other side of Cromwell Park stretched out Little and Great Disraeli avenues, which housed most of the shops and supermarkets of the little countryside. Although it was a more bustling universe, Harry preferred it to small streets like Privet Drive, who, in his opinion, were smeared with the stench of those who sought for calm and thus tolerated no disturbance and oddities of any sorts - therefore wouldn't accept him like his erstwhile neighbors, who had merrily slandered him (with a little encouragement from the Dursleys, of course) with a self-righteous abandon. In the midst of the multitude he felt nameless but in the middle of a few he would be noticed and branded as a scruffy-looking rascal, who only belonged in a three-meter-by-three cell in the local jailhouse for juvenile criminals. With his new identity, appearance and attire, he could walk 'unseen' through the lingering throngs and get on with his life without suffering from the eternally-present social prejudices of this world. It also helped that vampires, somehow, elicited bystanders to be oblivious to their presence. Priscilla had explained that it had something to do with natural camouflage and small-scale telepathy but Harry didn't care as long as it worked.

Had Harry been caught shoplifting somewhere in Little Disraeli Avenue and had the policemen had the choice between a vicar and him as potential culprits, the officer would most probably have chosen the clergyman and arrested him. Of course, the spell could easily be broken as it was more of a subconscious thing that could be avoided by merely focusing on the surroundings - even Muggles could dispel the influence and notice vampires once given or made the right impetus.

Cromwell Park was a haven of peace Harry unfortunately hadn't had the leisure of visiting thanks to his relatives' lack of care. He, however, had taken the habit of taking a stroll down its neatly mowed lawns on weekends, sometimes with Priscilla and Lizzie, enjoying the respite it provided him with. Feeling rather constricted by the awkward silence between the two of them, Harry cleared his throat and turned towards her, never breaking his pace. "By the way, how have you been feeling, these past few weeks?"

He expected her to flippantly give him her answer but obviously Fate had inspired her to do the exact opposite.

_Bugger, what did I do?_ he wondered as she fixed him with a glare that could transform the North Pole into a Martian landscape and sullenly harrumphed. "I've been worrying myself out of my head, if that's what you're asking," she grumbled under her breath. Harry scratched the back of his head with an apologetic look and grabbed her arm. "Look, Hermione, listen...I...I'm sorry for my going away...but, well, you heard my reasons, didn't you?" he asked with a pleading look. "I know I've been a prat most of last year, but, still...can't you forgive me? I did apologize in my letter, even if I know it isn't enough to make up for the whole thing..." Hermione looked at him for a few moments without uttering a single word and sighed loudly. "It's alright...I can understand...I wasn't in your place so it's not really like I can criticize you for it. I would have panicked, too," she admitted reluctantly, before falling once again silent.

Harry took the hint and resumed the conversation, not willing to have that shell of lead take form between the two of them and prevent their damaged friendship from mending itself. "And...apart from that?" he said tentatively. "I mean, when you came back from Hogwarts you had to take potions and stuff...how's it going now?"

Hermione's eyes darkened a bit at the mention of her medical treatment but she answered nevertheless, unlike Priscilla, who would have preferred to equivocate - just like she did when confronted to such disturbing matters. "I've been...okay, I guess. The amount of potions I have had to take has been divided by two, then by three and now I only have to take two draughts every day, morning and evening. It's the _Aquavaletudo _beverage. It prevents my body from dehydrating while increasing the number of red blood cells in my bloodstream." She seemed not eager to continue her tale and Harry was about to ask her another question when she began speaking again. "The...curse Dolohov threw at me was _viscum conscindo_, the Body-Ripping Curse. I was lucky the magic of the shield I conjured interfered with the spell - it overwrote its magical matrix, I think. It changed its nature and transformed it into a mere Body-Numbing Hex but it still did some damages. Enough to disturb my metabolism - that's what madam Pomfrey was trying to heal. My body didn't behave the correct way anymore and I could fall sick at any moment."

"Oh. I'm...sorry," Harry said lamely. It was in a way his fault that Hermione had been hurt and more than once he had blamed himself for her injuries. Hurting himself was nothing compared to seeing his friends suffering in a hospital's bed. Guilt always came back to haunt him, whispering in his mind's ear words of accusation, blaming him for the damages done and incurred. _Everything's your fault, Potter. Had you not been born they would have been alright and still alive..._ It had nearly driven him mad in Privet Drive but the Dane family seemed to have a calming effect on his troubled mind. His remorse at leaving the wizarding world and Voldemort's mind-attacks, however, had been replaced by nightmares of cryptic meanings.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione cried. "Stop blaming yourself for it! _I _should have evaded the spell and not blocked it! I _knew_ what it was the second I heard him shouting the incantation and I _should have known _I shouldn't have conjured the Shielding Charm! The blames lies with _me_, not with you!" Her eyes shone with annoyance and indignation at hearing him destroy himself over things that were not his doing. "And I'd prefer much more being hit with Body-Numbing spell than with a Body-Ripping Curse!"

"Don't scream it, Hermione. Muggles around," he warned her, warily watching the other people throw them glances. Seeing a couple bicker or fight was always a distraction to those who didn't have anything better to do than prey on other's woes. One garnered entertainment as he could, when it was so freely offered. "Oh," she said, blushing. "This time, _I'm_ the one apologizing."

Harry chuckled and the two returned to their walk, in higher spirits than before. They soon found themselves passing through the Victorian-style gates of Cromwell Park.

As he walked with Hermione down an alley of fully blooming poplar trees, Harry felt his worries ebb away, as if the scent of nascent flora had cleansed him away of any filth that he might have been stained with. Psychologists might have technically called his feeling a catharsis. A liberation. There were a few passersby, all lost in the contemplation of the settings or drawn to their own conversations, oblivious to the two walking side by side in silence - as if shying away from the idea of interaction. Finally, as they arrived in a small clearing that led to a small slope running downwards to a small pond, Harry nudged Hermione in the side, suggesting to go sit there. Hermione nodded noiselessly - her lack of words betrayed by the numerous glances she threw at her companion, eyeing him up and down and appraising his changes. The two walked until they were but no more than ten meters away from the water.

"So..." Harry began tentatively, propping himself on the grass and leaning back to make himself comfortable, enjoying the rustle of leaves as the wind passed through the thick, bright green foliage. Not far from them, gossamer white swans (who were, as surprising as it sounds, under the Queen's official protection because of their presence on the royal coats of arms) and ducks were lazily paddling their way through the murky water, going through their usual business while a variety a birds coming back from hotter regions happily announced their return from the southern hemisphere and their re-acquaintance with familiar areas. "Tell me what the Order knows about me," Harry requested, feeling that somehow that business needed to be done. He didn't want to take any risk and he wanted to assess his situation the best and sooner he could. He, after all, needed to have his cover kept intact till the end of this dreadfully dark job. His fated task.

Hermione took a long look at his blank, withdrawn face and sighed. "They know you are still alive but do not know whether you are safe or not. One thing was certain: you weren't in Voldemort's hands," she said, with a small frown.

"Otherwise he'd be dancing the mambo in Diagon Alley singing 'I've got him! I've got him!' Right?" he chuckled darkly. Hermione's lips quirked upwards but her smile didn't reach her eyes. Voldemort was too grave a subject to be made fun of at the moment - but she nonetheless indulged Harry with a sign of remote amusement as there was no need to mar the joy of finding him back. "That'd be the long and short of it, I suppose," she conceded, setting her jacket behind her so she could lie on the ground without experiencing its roughness and its dirt. "But Voldemort has nonetheless used your disappearance to spread a lot more panic, I fear," she continued, running a hand through her bushy hair. She closed her eyes. "One morning in Diagon Alley, somebody found a message magically written on Gringotts' facade - saying that all hope for the magical folk was lost as you weren't there. Apparently Fudge was having kittens over it - the text was in broad daylight and it took five Aurors and three hours to get rid of it - in the meantime, the _Daily Prophet _took hold of the information and had enough time to snap pictures of it. You can guess what happened next."

Harry's head lifted off the ground and his eyes popped open in surprise. "The _Daily Prophet_? They _mentioned_ it? Those little-"

"Yes," she confirmed, cutting him off before she could rant. Harry could hear a note of bitterness spring through her tones as she spoke - as reminders of fourth year and the dire deeds of one Rita Skeeter came back to consciousness. "They turned their backs on Fudge the day after Voldemort announced his return - the Ministry lost its beloved lapdog and ever since the _Daily Prophet _and its peers have been pummeling officials one after the other. Even Umbridge had to resign from her position as senior undersecretary..."

_AH! GOOD NEWS!_ his mind screamed in glee.

"Um-bitch?" Harry spat. "They FINALLY kicked her out? Took them long enough!" he grumbled. Hermione looked at him pensively at resumed her narrative. "Well - it wasn't so much as her actions in Hogwarts that made the public angry - it was two lines from the _Daily Prophet_ hinting that some higher-ups in the Ministry had somehow made You-Know-Who's revival easier. However, she was just whisked off to an obscure bureau, not much but the disgrace was evident - and in the meantime she had to cope with the all-out slander. Fudge took the brunt of it, though other names were close behind. You know how it works, Harry..." Hermione shook her head knowingly albeit sadly. "Once you get tired of your main scapegoat you start searching for others. Acquaintances, friends, relatives..."

Harry tore a small strand of grass from the lawn and twirled it between his fingers, staring at the perfection of Nature's work. "And...Percy? Did he get hit, too?"

Hermione had a half-smile on her face - one, though, that had worry imprinted over it. "Yes, since he was the one who took the initiative to act as the main public announcement official. As Ron said, he must have thought it would have boosted his career but somehow his plan backfired badly. The media started calling officials names and more than one were branded as liars or slackers. Percy was finally suspended by Fudge because he couldn't control the press...and...it was ugly, to say the least."

Harry was torn between satisfaction at seeing Percy finally getting his retribution and pity for the alienated Weasley who had thought he was doing the good thing and had walked away from his family to shake hands with success and money - or so he thought. _Payback's a bitch, Percy. Maybe tomorrow you'll be a skipper on a Muggle ferryboat doing shuttles between France and Great Britain. How ironic it'd be... _"He didn't return to the Burrow, though. Professor Dumbledore said that he'd come round but the Twins retorted that he wouldn't. Not now, anyway, and I don't think both of them would him approach their parents even equipped with a fifteen-foot pole. They'd turn him into an octopus first," she said, her lips pursing as she remembered the two Weasleys, professional pranksters who had so boldly left Hogwarts under Umbridge's nose, defying her openly before Inquisitorial Squad, teacher staff and student body. Molly Weasley, according to the rare news he had gotten from the Burrow at the beginning of the holidays, had blown her top at them - and torn quite a few eardrums apart in the neighboring Ottery St. Catchpole. "Leave him alone, 'Mione. He's not worth it, anyway. For the moment he'd be of no use to us; he'd have to lose all of his preconceptions and trust in the Ministry to be of any real help."

_Not that I'm asking Percy to become a John Lennon fan or a Buddhist. It'd be kinda strange to see him donning orange robes, head shaven and chanting, 'Hare Krishna, hare Krishna'...Fred and George would commit suicide shortly after or just go nuts._

Hermione blinked owlishly at him and turned around to lie on her stomach, chin propped on her crossed hands. She began to fix him with a look akin to the one Professor Flitwick bore when he discovered some unusual spell-work: utter, focused fascination. Though this time there was a bit of McGonagall in her thoughtful gaze. "Err...'Mione? Something wrong?" Harry asked, unnerved by her stare. Hermione let the premises of a smile form on her lips. "Since when did you become so...don't get me wrong - don't be offended..._mature_? Especially with the teenage rebel look? And what's with this 'Mione, anyway?" she asked with an expression many would have sworn to be the cousin of the Cheshire Cat's grin. An occurrence highly unusual as Hermione _never _smirked in that way or made fun of him so..._teasingly_?

Harry became uneasy at the question. "Well...for the...look, it's an aftereffect of my becoming a vampire and...I sort of liked it - made me unrecognizable, too, so I took it as a blessing to hide away from the Order. I also looked at bit like Sirius so I guessed it wouldn't hurt to try leaving my hair that way. What's next? Ah, yeah! Mature? Me?" he pouted, pointing at himself. "I guess that becoming a vampire, leaving everything behind and beginning a new life with new responsibilities does that to someone, wouldn't it?" Hermione nodded slowly. "And for the nickname...uh...you might want to ask Cilia about it," he answered. Hermione's smile faltered a bit at the vampire's name. "She was the one to do the whole job...and for the nicknames? I think I started it with Cilia - you see, Priscillia...Cilia. Then I met another guy named Asmodeus...Modie...Cilia's sister, Lisa-Maria - Lizzie for her family...why? Don't like it? I can-" he started before she interrupted him. "No", she said, returning back to her earlier position. "I kind of like it. I usually don't like people shortening my name but this one has a nice ring to it. My grandfather used to call me _Hermy_," she grumbled, "a nickname I absolutely HATE!"

"I get it...Hermy," Harry slyly said, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. With lots of mayonnaise and ketchup.

_I hope she doesn't...oh, shit. Shouldn't have said that._

Hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned and no pain stings more than a woman's slap on one's face. Even playful.

Two minutes later, Harry sat back in Indian style, eyeing the witch beside him. "It's nearly four o'clock. We'll have to meet Cilia downtown. You up for a little walk?" he inquired.

Hermione, apparently surprised about the late hour, glanced at her wristwatch and nodded, getting her lean frame to her feet. "Guess we better get moving now, yeah," she answered. The two resumed their walk and went out of the park in silence, the two mingling among the crowd of workers coming back home after a long day of hard labor. Though there were still holidays Little Whinging remained a bustling town. Not very known but gifted with a lot of activity that made it a key point in its vicinity. A minor commercial nexus of the commuter belt. It was nowhere as animated as London or Diagon Alley but populated enough to fill its denizens with a sense of liveliness. Crime, thankfully, was reduced to a scant minimum. Most of the local population were either yuppies, middle classes or well-off individuals seeking for comfort, peace and quiet. While in the 1970s people had started to conglomerate downtown so as to find a job, the nineties were seeing the return of wealthy persons back to the countryside and the major cities' outskirts. And Little Whinging, or at least its center, was like a magnet for those who wished for a less crowded living area.

Thirty minutes later, after making their way through Little Disraeli Avenue (which now was crammed with cars caught in the usual rush hour's traffic jam), Harry and Hermione entered the chintzy-looking _The Blue Starlight_, to find Priscilla already seated in the back of the discotheque, near the dance floor, happily sipping from a glass of Cinzano and looking at the star-filled ceiling with a laidback expression. She greeted the two teenagers with a rise of her glass and ushered them into free seats in front of her

"So...ya alright, both o' ya?" she inquired, indulging both of them with a smile.

"Perfect," Harry answered, getting a simple nod from Hermione. Both didn't want to go in any specifics but they wanted to have Priscilla get the idea. No hard feelings, no problems. Just the joy of rekindling the flame of friendship.

The trio spent the entire evening talking about various points though no serious matters were discussed, as it seems that nothing else needed to be said. Surprisingly, most of the conversation was done by Hermione and Priscilla, the former finding a goldmine in the form of the latter. Books were Hermione's passion as well as Priscilla's work. A perfect fit, as most would say. Harry, however, was unwilling to break the seemingly appropriate chemistry between the two and refrained from interrupting the two-sided talk. For once Hermione didn't look abashed or glum and he in no case wanted it to change. _I don't want to be the one making people cry...except for Voldemort..._he thought grimly as he gazed at the two, animatedly bantering over the flaws and qualities of Shelley and Yeats. Poetry had never been his forte and he was thus ousted of the conversation - not that he had protested about it, anyway. Writing melodious and pompous-looking sentences was beyond his understanding and care.

He much preferred to spend the night drinking Cokes or Sprites while watching something that would warm his heart.

And seeing Hermione being _that_ lively and devoted just after causing her to cry all the tears the purgatory contained was like a sweet manna to his heavily burdened conscience.

When his wristwatch finally displayed 18:00:00H, Harry knew that Hermione's time to return to her home had come and he had to let her go. Reluctantly, he coughed up and interrupted the chat the vampire and witch shared. Hermione looked up with a small, slightly annoyed look (much like the one Ron would usually bear should one unworthy lowlife of a student dare to cut through his "hallowed" diatribe about "the Chudley Cannons' blatant mightiness and undisputable chance to win the Quidditch cup back next year") and turned to him. Harry pointed to the contraption on his arm and cleared his throat. _Damn, damn, damn. I shouldn't be doing this, but I still feel bad about upsetting her today. Guess I owe her that_, he thought. _Anything to make up for what I did._

"Care for a dance before you leave? Please? As a thank you for today?" Harry offered tentatively, waiting for her answer and already cursing himself for his action. _She's going to use as blackmail material. I know it, I know it, I know it!_

_If she's going to laugh, I'm going to shoot myself in the head. Even if the bullet won't hit anything vital since my brains are so small..._

_If she's going to say 'no', I'll jump through the window and into Cromwell Park's tulips. Don't bother about the gardener, he isn't the one fucked up at the moment._

_If she's going to mock me, I'll brain the first waiter I see with a Quidditch bat and set the second on fire. I don't care if the latter is carrying alcohol. It'll make a nice fire hose._

_If she doesn't say anything...what am I going to do?_

_Curse those discotheques - look at what they're making me do!_

"You want to dance?" Hermione gasped, ogling at him with Ferris wheel-wide eyes. "You were complaining like there was no tomorrow in fourth year about the Yule Ball and...?"

"How do you think we feed on our...preys? With a ten-foot straw? By sneaking in hospitals to snatch blood bags?" Harry asked with a friendly sneer. Hermione's jaw snapped shut at that and she lost some of her blood in the face. _Oooops. Shouldn't have revealed that_, Harry cussed mentally. He forced a nonchalant grin on his face and corrected his shot. "I promise I won't bite. I swear, even," he tried to placate his now worried friend. "I'm not thirsty anyway. And our...preys don't feel anything anyway."

_I hope I didn't break her brains - NASA would never forgive me for it..._

Hermione looked back at him warily, daring him to jump at her fangs drawn and a rabid look in his eyes, then got up, albeit with an uneasy expression that Harry forgave her for. _Let's not forget that blundering is a Potter family tradition - wouldn't want to spoil it, would we?_ "I...guess," she agreed, quite unsure. However, Priscilla's quiet snickering brought her back to her sense and Harry could see her comically stiffening, as if trying to show the other vampire up. _Yeah...Gryffindors for the cup...display your braveness! Show all of them up...and give your very best! _Harry thought, remembering the Gryffindor House's compelling Quidditch songs. He took Hermione's hand and led her to the dance floor, waiting for a new song track to emerge from the loudspeakers. At this time slows and ballads were still played as the partygoers and other pub-crawlers weren't yet there to make the whole night rumble on its own under the fitful rhythm of house music and techno. Little Whinging had microcosms of its own, living their own way, on their own rules.

Then the first notes arrived, like a small breeze in spring. Gentle and soft, like a child's cradle.

Gently the two began to sway to the rhythm of the music, feeling the world around fade to black and leave them alone. Hermione sighed discreetly and buried her head in Harry's neck, relishing the smooth feeling his skin provided. Harry, for his part, remained silent, afraid that a single uttered word would dispel the dream he was having. He could feel the smell of tulips radiating from her top and the scent of lilies her skin gave off, intoxicating his senses like a drug he couldn't get away from without losing his sanity. For nothing else mattered more than the fact that he was holding his friend and was glad to know that, despite his deepest fears, she hadn't rejected him but accepted his state because of who he truly was and not what people touted him to be. For her, he wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived. He was Harry James Potter, Gryffindor House member, friend and confidante. Nothing more, nothing less.

When Amy Lee's voice disappeared in the background and the then rare couples broke up at the arrival of a less romantic song, Harry lifted his gaze towards Hermione's eyes, his own red-rimmed, green irises shining with unshackled gratitude. He hugged her closer and whispered in her, feeling his heart break. "Thank you, Hermione. Thank you for not leaving me."

"I'd never leave you, Harry, whether you'd want it or not," she replied softly, leading him back to Priscilla's table, where the older vampire was appraising the pair with a contented, relieved smile. "We're your friends. Don't forget it."

"I know I ran away first, Hermione. I'm sorry," he apologized once again. "I don't know if you can forgive me for-"

"Shush," she said, putting a finger on his lips and beckoning him to say no more. Words were no longer needed, indeed. They had come to an understanding and that was all that mattered. Harry was, whether Hermione wanted it or not, indebted to the young Gryffindor witch for her faith and loyalty. She held nothing against her friend except for his escapade, the silence that ensued and the worry it caused. He would one way or another, fix it up, he swore to the sparkling ceiling, taking the fake stars painted overhead as witnesses to his mute oath.

The pair arrived at the table and dropped in their chairs, grabbing their drinks silently. Priscilla drummed her pale fingers over her own glass and shot the two teenagers a long, perusing look. "So...Hermione, what are ya goin' ta do now that ya know what Harry is an' where he works?" she asked, trying to sound unconcerned by the subject at hand. Hermione dropped her gaze to the table and clasped her hands on her knees, not daring to look towards Harry, who she knew was looking straight at her right now, expecting her answer. "I don't know," she admitted mournfully. "I didn't expect to learn that...well, that Harry had become a vampire," she began, sparing Harry an apologetic look. "I promised the Order that I would tell them any development in my search but now that I know..." she trailed off, caught in her dilemma and torn between her allegiance to the organization and her friendship towards Harry.

Priscilla retaliated with a silence of her own before leaning forward, her eyes gleaming in the dim room. "How 'bout this: ya don't tell whoever ya're reportin' ta an' I'll let ya spend tha' day with Harry at tha' bookshop. Ya can read whatever falls under ya hand an' catch up with ya friend. Talk 'bout killin' two birds with tha' same stone..." she proposed eagerly. "How does that sound?"

Hermione sat gaping, as she examined the proposition. In all respects, it was a win-win situation, Harry deemed. Not only would she spend the whole day in Harry's company but she would also have the opportunity to ransack the shop in her quest of literature material and information-gathering. By the looks she was now sporting she looked like a little schoolgirl struggling to contain her joy while retaining her dignity. Harry, nonetheless felt a slight part of reluctance in her countenance, which forbade her from jumping at the offer. He settled a soothing hand over her naked arm and told her, "you don't have to tell Dumbledore, Hermione. I'll come around one day or another but not now. Just tell them your search was inconclusive and we'll find a way to 'meet up' when the time will be right. What do you think?" he inquired, hoping to end the day with an agreement.

Hermione, however, looked torn between two ends for a second then her taut shoulders slumped, happily defeated. "What about Ron and Remus?"

"Not now. Not yet," he pleaded with her, his tone becoming urgent. "I don't know how Ron would react and Remus...well, I don't know how he'd feel after losing his second best friend and learning that the son of his first one just became a vampire...I've yet to figure it out but I'll find a way," he clarified, running a hand through his long hair. "Do you understand why I didn't write to them and only to you? You aren't biased. Ron was already quite uneasy at learning that Hagrid was a half-giant; I don't know how he'd react to my being a vampire. And Remus would be devastated...he'd feel like he failed my parents a second time."

Hermione nodded and silently agreed. Harry hugged her once more, muttering his heartfelt thanks to his re-found friend. "I'll meet them - I swear, Hermione, but not now."

"Keep your word, Harry. Just keep your word and I won't regret anything."

He nodded in her hair and whispered to her, "I will."

That was all she needed to know.

Rather distraught by the emotions both experienced during that day, Harry and Hermione parted ways in front of the discotheque but not before trading phone numbers and deciding where and when they would meet again. Hermione wouldn't have it any other way - as she obviously was too scared to see him disappear anew just as she had found him back. Harry followed her with saddened eyes for a long moment, keeping his gaze riveted on her slender frame, which soon disappeared in a sea of nameless bodies. Closing his eyes, Harry sighed deeply, knowing that he had at least one burden off his shoulders but had added another to make up for the momentary relief.

"Feel better?" asked Priscilla, leaning on a nearby newspaper kiosk.

Harry nodded wordlessly before following her back home, rather subdued.

"C'mon - let's go huntin'. We'll get yar mind off those thin's - an' then off ta bed."

"Yeah."

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**_To be continued..._**

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**A/N:**

Blame me. I know this story's been swinging between angst, humor and sometimes action or drama but it cannot be helped. Life is made like that. I had already written seven chapters when these alternative features made themselves known to my eyes. Mind you, it was worse than the final version that is now uploaded on FFN. The contrast was so glaring that I decided to rush back to the already completed chapters and tune down the sunny atmosphere. Add a few comments here and there and get on with business. All while managing Harry meeting Asmodeus and looking forward to development. Spin control is no easy task. So...was it credible? Were my efforts wasted for nothing? I had tried to imagine over and over what Hermione's reaction would be without gleaning much success. I could get close to the reconstitution of that scene but I could never find the perfect scenario. So I tried my best- here's the result. I know. Angst. Drama. Tragedy? Gloom. Doom. (insert Brahms' music) That's chapter seven - where Harry's finally reacquainted himself with his past. I hadn't intended in chap. 06 to include Asmodeus' tirade over Harry's cowardice but I found the impulsive input too ideal for Hermione's and Harry's first meeting to let it pass. And here's the result. Exactly 20,500 words. Nearly _twice _the original file. Ch. 08 should be shorter.

For the moment this series is gunning down the road like I'd never have imagined. I hope I'll keep that pace for my sake. It makes me happy to see that for once I don't have trouble writing. Except for my bloodied fingers and my busted keyboard. :-) _Dark-bitch_, first question: might be...heehee...second: might be...heehee... _Shadow of the black abyss:_ answers given. _Shadowed rains_: I love long chaps too. Good distraction for me. _D-daygirl_: you got your wish though I'm very busy ATM. Last thing: for practical reasons, I changed my name to 'Soultaker-07', like the one I use in a certain forum. I'll keep signing my fics under my previous penname, though. I have another series in mind - read my profile - but it won't be written before long. Sorry about the long wait but...exams, you know? That secular pain in the arse? Not to mention that I have been spending a ridiculous amount of time on Gundam SEED Destiny forums. I do intend to cut it short, though. It didn't help either that FFN's uploading program decided not to comply to my wishes and make the draft disappear.

**Until next chapter,**

**ABI2301**

**EDIT:  
**In order to comply with FFN's new set of guidelines regarding the uploading of files containing lyrics not written by the author, the lyrics of Evanescence's _Missing_ were removed from this chapter. However, it is still possible to retrieve them by running an inquiry through Yahoo!Search and inputting the followingcombination: 'Evanescence' + 'Missing' + 'Lyrics'. I deeply apologize for the inconvenience but my reason to get rid of that part of the story (despite its role in the chapter) was due to the recent deletion of one of my favorite stories, S.S.IDGET's _Finding Himself. _Invoked motive: presence of unoriginal lyrics. While I find it sad that such measures would be applied to enforce the rules, I find it necessary to remain in accordance to this place's laws - since, in a way, I should be glad that they enabled me to post here. On the other side, I wonder what will become of all those now departed (out of the fanfiction business and gone on with their life, I mean) authors who will not be able to reupload their stories afterwards - they maybe won't even notice the disappearance...sad story, 'tis.

I also take the opportunity to tell you that I've recently been, and rather furiously, I must add, been studying accountancy under the quite forceful incentives of my parents. From nine in the morning to four in the afternoon, I have to pour over a large, darned book full of figures and definitions I'd gladly and readily leave behind without a backward glance. The major problem is that when I get to come back to my room I am wasted beyond reckoning and I barely have patience enough to open my mailbox and resume my writing. However, I learned that in one or two weeks I'll have seven days' worth of free time, although another obstacle in the road (it in fact depends on how you see it) has made itself known: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I already ordered one in an English bookstore here in Brussels and I'll be reading and rereading it after the 16th of July - and that's how my evenings will be spent, mostly. On the other side, that same Saturday, I'll be downloading the Bittorrent RAW of Gundam SEED Destiny's ep39 - the one I've been waiting for for two whole weeks. The series' final arc has begun and I'll be paying it more attention than anything else - too bad for you. Bottom line: I'll be as busy as never again. Bad news for you, good ones for me.

I apologize for all those readers who have had to read this lengthy and purposeless edit and had to roll their eyes upwards all the way (now doubtlessly requiring the urgent assistance of an oculist) but I felt it within my responsibility to pass along this note. I'm deeply sorry. Sincerely, this time.


	8. Chapter 08: Playing With The Devil

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 08**

**v.01: 04/13/2005**

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**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

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**Chapter 08: ****Playing With The Devil**

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Harry woke up the next morning with a dull, overwhelming headache.

A deep, snickering voice within his numbed mind then proceeded to simper about how he shouldn't have let Priscilla hand him cocktails without asking what the beverages were made of. As he rifled through them, he could have sworn they would have molten a two-inch thick steel plate from the way they clung to his throat and nearly scorched the fragile tissue. Even gold, the one material that was flaunted to resist against all types of corrosive fluids save for the famous _aqua regia_, a mix of hydrochloric and nitric acids, wouldn't have stood its ground even two seconds against the throat-twisters Priscilla had shoved in his hands, telling him that it was not only 'time to grow up', but also 'a moment to celebrate yar friend's reappearance'.

Now he was paying the consequences of his heavy drinking.

And, boy, he told himself grumpily, didn't it help that his heightened senses increased the aching sensation in his mind. _Vampiric powers and super hormones be cursed, _then, Harry vowed. _I know that bloke in that pub told me I was a first-timer, but this is rubbish! At least Bubotuber pus can be healed swiftly but this is crap-filled hell! I wonder how people can stand that form of distilled magma...must be some form of hereditary resistance._ The memories from yesterday, with the mind-shattering reentrance of Hermione Granger in his cursed life, came back like a massive blow to his numbed mind, causing him to wince as he painfully remembered the previous days' happenings. Mentally happy he was but physically delighted he wasn't. With a grunt he pushed himself off his mattress and started for the kitchen, his muffled footsteps sounding like cathedral bells in his head. And for the fifth time in ten days, the next-door neighbors were...having a go at it. Loudly. The cacophony was enough to render him dizzy. He finally entered the said room and met Priscilla's highly amused eyes with a doleful, bleary look. How he managed to successfully collapse in his chair at the table and not in the doorway, however, was beyond his understanding. Grunting softly, he lifted his hunched form off the tablecloth and locked gazes with his smirking companion.

"What in the blazes happened?" Harry moaned, holding his hand clamped shut on his forehead. Priscilla handed him a bottle of aspirin with some vitamin B pills, still smirking and set her hands under her chin, obviously swimming in a sea of gleeful amusement. "Well, let's say that ya took too much booze yesterday night," she sing-sang, apparently not guilt-ridden for her roommate's state.

"Too much? I feel like I drank an entire tank of alcohol!" he muttered under his breath, trying to ward off the unpleasant sensation.

"Yeah, well, ya began rather slow, good-good, but ya went pretty bold afterwards," she snickered, struggling not to laugh openly while relishing the memories from yesterday. Harry blearily opened one eye and fixed her with toned irritation. "Huh? What happened?" he yawned, dreading the worst.

_Can't be bad...can't be bad..._he chanted to himself.

"Well..." Priscilla said, her grin getting wider and wider by the millisecond. She faked checking her fingernails, keeping Harry short-breathed as she equivocated.

"Cilia," Harry said in a warning tone.

_I've had bad luck yesterday night so if there's a good God upstairs this should be a good luck morning...shouldn't it?_

_Shouldn't it?_

"Spoilsport," Priscilla pouted, resuming her buttering of her scone. "Anyway, someone next ta ya teased ya on how ya seemed pretty youn' ta drink grownup booze." Harry's hands clasped tighter in growing dread, foreseeing the building embarrassment she had yet to unleash on him. He slouched lower in his chair as her smirk became as wide and deep as the Atlantic Ocean. "Don't tell me I..."

"Ta say it loud an' clear," she continued with an annoyingly joyful tone, "ya seemed ta have taken that tha' bad way an' wanted ta prove ya were able ta hold yar drinks."

"Oooohh..." Harry moaned again. _Never, never again...where's Jesus when you need him? It was supposed to be a good luck morning..._

"I don't really remember what came after but I do remember ya takin' a bottle o' whisky from tha' barman. Chugged it down yar hatch like a true sailor! I think ya impressed a girl or two down there but I had ta stop ya before it got outta hand - that was when ya started ta think ya were still in tha' bookshop - that's when I knew ya were completely busted. Ya even tried ta show them up by sayin' 'mess with tha' best, die like tha' rest,'" she laughed, breathless. Harry groaned even more miserably. "But tha' part where I really cracked up was when that transvestite - had downed quite a few pints in his barrel, too - tried ta hug an' ya were tryin' ta get away. Ya were lucky he found someone else in tha' pub ta focus on otherwise ya'd still have him grafted onto yar back, believe me," she said with a painfully mischievous glint in the back of her pupils. Thankfully, Harry had still his face buried in his arms or his day would have gone the wrong way. "I finally had ta drag ya back ta tha' apartment at one o'clock with ya mutterin' all tha' while 'bout brooms with feathers an' carnivorous books," she concluded - her grin bordering on a sadistic nature. "We even had ta stop in a nearby park ta let ya empty yar stomach," she added, scrunching her nose in mock disgust. "A quite messy moment, that was."

_Someone call the _Daily Prophet_ - Harry Potter officially announces his conversion to atheism! 'This is my revenge on you, God!' he declared in a ten pages-long interview!_

"I swear - I'll never accept a drink from you anymore, Cilia, you're a danger to young men," Harry solemnly declared from under his crossed arms, hunched over the table in ill-concealed shame. There were times when people wondered why they had bothered getting up in the morning and Harry had the premonition that this day would be one of them, much to his chagrin.

"So ya say - we'll see if ya'll be able ta hold yar word," she laughed in response. "But don't talk ta Lizzie 'bout it, I don't want her ta-" she continued on a much serious tone.

"Don't talk to me 'bout what?" said a voice from the doorway. Harry's head moved slightly to see the cause of the much-welcome interruption.

_Uh? Virgin Mary comes to my rescue to avenge me?_

Priscilla, for her part, immediately paled and whirled around, fast enough to make Harry rub his eyes at the sudden movement.

"Err...nothin', Lizzie," she answered, trying to avoid the delicate subject. Grownups should, in her opinion, not pose a too negative image of adulthood and its many aspects lest it reverberates itself onto young, easily impressed and influenced souls like a certain, vampiric younger sister. While she was one to easily condone common faults that - at least- retained a good excuse, Priscilla didn't relish displaying to her darling sibling the effects of alcoholism, even if it wasn't an addiction to those affected by it. Hangovers, however, were another matter.

"Nothing?" Lizzie said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes. "You were talking 'bout me!" she scolded, crossing her arms in a Molly Weasley-fashion.

_Go, Virgin Mary!_ Harry egged her on, finding relief in seeing the tables turned.

"Yeah...'bout nothin'," Priscilla said unconvincingly. Harry would have snickered from his position had he not been suffering from a massive hangover to deal with. Lizzie's high tones were a bad addition to the local ruckus in his own opinion, striking his eardrums like sledgehammers falling on an oversized gong.

"Tell me!" Lizzie chirped indignantly.

Harry began groaning.

"We weren't talkin'!" Priscilla retorted immediately.

Then moaning.

"You were!" Lizzie shot back, her voice rising. Just as she slammed her tiny hands on the table. Hard.

Hissing...

"Weren't!"

...And grumbling.

"Were!"

"GIRLS! CUT IT OUT, FOR HEAVENS' SAKE!" Harry interrupted loudly, feeling a dozen trolls beating the rumba around his brains. Both vampires shut up immediately, their eyes falling on his frazzled form, still collapsed on the table with no sign of life. Lizzie blinked in surprise then went at the young wizard's side. "What's going on? Something happened? Are you okay?" she began firing questions like a Gatling gun, much to Harry's despair. _Don't tell me Virgin Mary was Judas with a skirt and lipstick...pleeeease... _"Lizzie," he moaned. "Stop it, pleeeeeeaaaase..." he pleaded helplessly. "Headache alert..." In a painful movement, he grabbed the pills and the bottle Priscilla had set in front of him and gobbled down both liquid and medicine. Fortunately, Lizzie had backed away to her stool and was already silently buttering her slice of bread, giving him reproachful looks for not letting her take care of him. While he was pleased with her attention, Harry was not about to let himself be mollycoddled so soon in the morning.

"Will pass 'way soon, Harry," Priscilla observed from the stove, where pieces of bacon were sizzling on a frying pan. "Don't forget that vampires absorb nutrients an' food faster than human bein's. In less than thirty minutes ya'll be 'kay," she assured him.

"Thanks," came his muffled answer.

_Never, never again. Or I'll drink a bottle of Bubotuber pus._

_And damn you all to hell, deities of the world!_

True to Priscilla's promise, thirty minutes later, Harry's headache had subsided and receded to a dull, faint pain lingering in the corner of his mind. The three occupants of the apartment spent the whole morning tending to their chores and tidying their rooms a bit, as they did before every weekend - a ritual Harry had eagerly adopted as it was radically different from the Dursleys' constant obsession about neatness and, more importantly, Aunt Petunia's never-ending orders to mow the lawn, hang the laundry outside, pass the vacuum cleaner around and every task possible in the Devil's imagination. Priscilla and Lizzie's carefree _modus vivendi_ was much more appealing than a life of hard work without any sign of abatement.

And without that bitter taste that was family abhorrence.

Because, he realized, that _this_ was the true feeling of belonging to a family.

That was probably how Ron felt when he was next to his kin.

Harry had just finished wiping the windows clean when his elder roommate came in, bringing two bottles and glasses with her. Harry dropped the rag in a small bucket at his feet and took a towel to get the filth out of his hands. His task done, he turned towards the other vampire, sensing that a long-awaited discussion was at hand.

"So...how d'ya feel like today?" Priscilla asked, dropping a couple of ice cubes in her Martini and making herself comfortable in the divan. Harry averted his eyes and drew a blank. "Aside from the episode yesterday night," he began with a grimace, "I guess I'm happy." The half-smile that graced his lips didn't, however, reach his eyes. Priscilla frowned at his lack of response and leant forward, gripping her glass in her hand. "Care ta elaborate?"

Harry chuckled mirthlessly and closed his eyes. "Well...I'm glad she found me. At least someone from _there_ knows that I'm still alive, that I'm well, that I'm..._working..._" He shook his head at the memory of Hermione who was probably now kneeling in front of an altar and thanking God for whatever made him work in a _bookshop_. "But..."

"But..." deadpanned Priscilla, quirking an eyebrow. "Problem there?"

"As I said, I'm not really comfortable unveiling my identity right now to the rest of my...former friends. Hermione understood and accepted me, I think. I'm really happy she did," he smiled absently. "I guess that her heritage from the non-magical population and all the social revolutions we went through helped her accept the truth easier than a wizard or witch would ever do. She's not prejudiced in the least - and _that,_ I'm grateful for. But, well...yesterday, when she started arguing about my not coming back to Hogwarts, I kind of felt...bad," he avowed, fishing with the appropriate words.

"Guilty?" she proposed, swirling her glass' contents before taking another sip.

Harry nodded weakly. "Yeah, I think it might be that feeling - in a way," he said, snickering at himself, "I sort of grew to consider her as the voice of wisdom in the trio Ron, Hermione and I constituted back at school," he explained, a fond smile on his lips. "Each time I do something I might regret later I always hear that little voice, that sound oddly like Hermione, telling me off and warning me about my actions' consequences. And, yesterday, when I started refuting her arguments, I wondered if I was doing the right choice."

_Because she's been right on too much things for me not to dismiss her judgment...after all, wasn't she against my going to the Department of the Mysteries? She hadn't been fooled by Moldy Warts' machinations...she saw through it..._

Priscilla's eyes bore through his, examining him closely. Her blue orbs, however, held no animosity or grudge in their expanses. She downed the remainder of her drink and shrugged. "Sounded like a good decision ta me, I think," she tried. "At least ya had yar reasons - an' I can't help thinkin' 'bout yar argument 'bout our...nature...and how people would react. Currently I think ya did tha' right choice. O' course, ya might decide ta rectify yar steps in tha' future. But right now? Can't say there was much else ta do or there were other possibilities."

Harry couldn't help but feel himself awash with a wave of relief at her approbation. It lessened his guilt considerably for he held her opinion very high in his esteem; after all, she was now like an older sister to him - the one who had given him another chance at life...and family. "Do you really think so?" he asked.

Priscilla said nothing then closed her eyes. She leant back against the building's facade, her body framed and highlighted by the brilliant sunlight, setting off her blond hair and reflecting off her pale skin. By Muggle superstitions' standards, she would have now been dead and been nothing but a pile of smoldering ashes, but the sun didn't and couldn't hurt them. It was one of the benefits of evolution. Like the primitive cells millions of years of ago in the vast oceans, vampires had learnt to use even toxic or harmful substances or environments for their own profit and even managed to turn them into vital nutrients. Vampires, after a few centuries, had finally tamed the day, vanquishing at long last the sun's glaring rays, claiming a new reign over the world.

"What else could ya have done? Can ya tell me? Ya had a lot o' luck with yar friend, Hermione, ta begin with. She accepted you, though I could see she was very worried. Ya're right ta be grateful, anyway. Not many wand-wavers would have so willin'ly accepted ta acquaint themselves with People o' Tha' Dark, especially old friends o' theirs. Besides, on a different topic, with Asmodeus..." she trailed off pensively, as if pondering the subject or trying to remember her arguments.

"Asmodeus? Where does he come in exactly in the problem?" Harry asked quizzically.

Priscilla shook her head and fixed him with serious eyes. "Ole Modie holds...somethin' like a grudge towards tha' wizardin' world. Don't ask him - let him explain it ta yarself one day. It's one o' his secrets - an' it's his ta tell, not yours ta discover. Just...don't pry - let him do tha' job. He'll do it when he's ready or if he trusts ya enough. In fact...ta give ya a short idea o' what it's all 'bout...he...he just hates tha' wand-wavers a lot. Somethin' 'bout tha' past, too. And tha' wand-wavers return tha' gesture fully. So havin' yar people know 'bout him would be kinda problematic - it'd be like tellin' them ya were friends with Hitler or Pol Pot."

"What do you mean?" Harry inquired as he got up and walked to the balcony that stood in a corner of the living room, opening its door wide to let fresh air in.

"Don't forget that each time vampires an' wand-wavers meet, it often ends either in spilt blood or with a lot o' magic in tha' air," she answered simply, her lips pursed. "An' Modie...for some reason...got into more than a few fights with tha' wizardin' world, from what I gathered. So...his presence among tha' wand-wavers is not _that_ appreciated, if ya get my point."

"You mean that I'm caught between the sledgehammer and the anvil," Harry rectified, earning himself a wry nod from his companion. He sighed loudly and walked outdoors, bringing himself to lean heavily on the railing. Priscilla appeared at his side, with a glass of coke in her hand - which she offered to the young wizard. Harry took the item with a mumbled thanks and lost himself in the contemplation of the street, currently emptied of its usual lot of pedestrians. People preferred to remain indoors at that hour, within reach of their air conditioning systems' cool breeze, away from the slightly scalding heat. What was curious this season was that the nights were overly cold yet heat lorded the daytime.

"Ta put it inta simple words, yeah," she agreed. "I...just...wanted ya ta remake contact with yar friends," she said, shaking her head. "Didn't want ya ta do tha' same thing I did," she mumbled dejectedly. Harry glanced at her and saw her features darken as she started to absently finger the begonias sitting on the outer windowsills.

_Of course - like me, she abandoned her friends so that she wouldn't be hurt. She left them before they left her._

He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. "Thanks for the help."

_I guess we are more alike than we would ever admit, eh?_

She shrugged dismissively. "Was just a little push. Anyway, ya couldn't have avoided it, no matter what. Past always drags ya back ta where ya were before. Ya can't escape, no matter how hard ya try."

"How comforting," Harry scoffed. He lapsed into silence then turned back to face his roommate. "About Asmodeus..."

"Yeah?"

"Is there _really_ a bloodbath between wizards and him?" Priscilla didn't answer for a moment then straightened up, looking at the clear sky with a mournful look. "It's 'bout as bloody as with most vampires, I think." Seeing Harry's questioning look, she clarified, "most o' us don't go along with wand-wavers, yeah. Either because o' tha'...prejudices between tha' two o' us, but also 'cause o' a millennia-long racial dislike. We're different. What's unknown is theoretically dangerous. So we're enemies. An' what do enemies do? They fight. An' what happens next? Generational hatred is born, maintained through tha' centuries thanks ta ever-livin' vampires or books and tales for tha' mortals. There's nothin' between us an' tha' non-magical folk but there's a lot of hot blood between wand-wavers and..._us_."

"And did Asmodeus fight a lot against wizards?" Harry inquired. Asmodeus seldom talked about himself, preferring to redirect the spotlight on the others. It was easier for him to slander or criticize.

"That's for him ta tell, not me," she repeated. "It also, as ya said, didn't help that wand-wavers are somewhat quick ta assume an' judge. Guess ya were right with that. If Modie says so - an' remember that _he_ was a...wizard - then I got no reason _not_ ta believe him," she affirmed before returning to the living room, turning the TV on to catch the latest news.

"I guess that times change but people don't, eh?" Harry asked resignedly. "Always clinging to our prejudices and misconceptions? Our fears of the unknown?" he asked as he sat down on the divan next to her, his eye barely registering the figure of John Major, the British Prime Minister, talk about his resignation from the Conservative Party and the loss of his political group's majority in the House of Commons. "Yep," Priscilla concurred in a much cheerful voice. "Just like them, I guess - remainin' stupid till tha' rest o' their lives," she pointed a finger to the telly, where the Secretary of State for Wales, John Redwood, was busy criticizing the government's mistakes and lauding the merits of a withdrawalist stance.

"I suppose," Harry chuckled, remembering Fudge and Umbridge, a brief flame of anger flaring within him. "Drowning and festering in stupidity - I can't believe the Ministry fell so low," he muttered, referring to the Ministry of Magic but some could say the statement still held true in the Muggle case.

"Ah...yes. Light travels faster than sound. That's why people always appear ta be brilliant until they start speakin'."

"I like it," Harry said with a grin.

* * *

"Again!" roared Asmodeus, shooting a curse at Harry, who promptly ducked the incoming attack. He was just on the verge of regaining his footing when a stunning spell hit him straight in the chest, sending him the land of oblivion. Two seconds later his eyes fluttered open as an incensed vampire revived the fallen wizard with a lazy flick of his wand.

"That was utterly pathetic, Potter! Had I hit you with a Killing Curse you would now be sipping Martinis with Jesus in Heaven!" he shouted, making Harry cringe as the shockwave assault his oversensitive ears. The new apprentice hissed in pain and irritably shot back, "I'm here, you know, not in Japan so please stop SCREAMING!"

_And how many times must I tell you I now hate Jesus?_

"That is completely irrelevant, young whelp!" snarled Asmodeus, lifting him unceremoniously off the floor and tossing him his wand back. "You are here to learn and strengthen yourself so STOP whining like a brat and RETALIATE!" Harry grumbled in annoyance and retook his earlier position, with a grim-looking vampire ten meters away from him. The two remained motionless for a minute before the old Nightslasher whipped his wand and cast a purple ball of flames towards the young man who once again ducked and answered by sending a bowel-burping hex. Asmodeus grinned as he saw the spell speeding at him and closed his eyes. The air shimmered for a second around the creature and seemed to waver with unseen waves, like the surface of a troubled pond. The blue beam, instead of making contact with the older man, suddenly veered off course and CIRCLED its target before actually re-bearing itself...towards the caster.

_Sweet Dracula in Transylvania...how unfair can one get?_

Harry's eyes widened in horror as he slammed his body on the carpet, evading the curse by a very small margin. Cussing under his breath, he began casting hexes and jinxes in rapid succession, growing angry as he saw Asmodeus dispelling the attacks with an infuriating lack of concern. Multiple shields appeared in front of the retired Nightslasher, some of them either absorbing the incoming magic and the rest making them rebound towards an impatient Harry. _Time to improvise_, the young vampire thought and aimed for the floor in front of his mentor. A Reductor curse flew off the tip of the holly-made wand and hit the ground two meters away from Asmodeus, sending a lot of dust and wood shards to become airborne and act like a smokescreen. Harry took advantage of the distraction to change his position all while pelting his hidden opponent with curses.

Harry stopped after a moment, seeing no reaction from Asmodeus and grew worried. _Great! If I killed my teacher I have no chance of surviving Priscilla, no matter what. Hermione, I'm glad to have seen you a last time before walking into my coffin,_ he thought, taking a careful step towards the cloud of floating dust. There was still no sign of activity inside the haze and Harry guessed that was something rather comforting for himself. _At least he won't be..._

He was suddenly cut short by a red beam that blasted him off his feet and sent him flying towards a nearby wall, panting for his breath. He spat a small amount of blood on the floor and looked up, seeing a very much unscathed Asmodeus emerging from the 'fog' with a remorseless smirk planted on his lips. "That's it - gloat!" Harry hissed, abashed at his poor performance.

"You're learning," observed casually a satisfied-looking, older vampire. "Using the Reductor curse to block my vision was quite a good trick - extremely unpredictable and putting you in a good tactical situation. Excellent. But you still need to work out your carefulness," he added with a scowl. "Are you really that intent on meeting your parents before even being able to spit on Voldemort's grave," he asked off-handedly, his accent everything but respectful. Harry's anger surged into life and the young wizard lost control on himself. "EXVISCUS!" he shouted, aiming for Asmodeus' back. His teacher's taunts he could bear with, but not insults directed towards his parents who had sacrificed their lives for their one-year old son.

Before being hit by the Entrails-Shredding Curse, Asmodeus reverted to his Shadowcloak shape and instantly floated away, his intangible form re-materializing a few meters away, unchecked. The former Auror calmly turned around and gazed at the point of impact in the wall, looking at the two-meter hole the spell had punched through the sea of bricks. "I see that I finally succeeded in making you break, Potter," he declared smugly, still staring at the damage. Harry lowered his wand and scowled resentfully. "Look at this," he said, pointing at the devastation. "What can you tell me at the sight of that hole you so diligently created while I had my back _turned_?" he sneered. Harry frowned for a moment then answered angrily, discovering that he had been tricked, used, for his teacher's purposes, even educational. "Strong emotions add more power to cast spells," he snarled.

Asmodeus grinned in satisfaction and began pacing in circles much like he used to. "I see I have not disrupted your mind or damaged your brains too much. Excellent. Indeed, you have probably heard about the stories of people showing signs of superhuman strength while in a state close to madness, right? You have probably seen in the TV those images of hooligans fighting the authorities or those wrestlers who slung their opponents over their shoulder to then slam then onto the floor and drop themselves over the fallen bodies? Yes? That is the power of anger. Raw anger. While you are in such a state," he clarified, as his grin grew larger and his fangs elongated dangerously. "...Your body is flooded with hormones like adrenalin and other substances that conveniently install more connections between the different parts of your inner physique, like nerves, brains, veins, muscles and so forth. With magic, the same phenomenon occurs. You create gates, bridges to your own magical core. Imagine the occurrence as a great water tank riddled with small sluices of various sizes," he explained carefully, seating himself in a nearby divan. Harry, for his part, remained on the floor, his attention piqued. "When you are in your...normal state, only a couple of those apertures are open. You use a very small amount of magic for your everyday charms or simple spells like _Alohomora_ or _Lumos_. Petty magicks. Those are ridiculously easy to perform and do not require any effort. But curses, hexes and jinxes? Those DEMAND A LOT of power. That's why you feel yourself so drained after a good, tiresome duel. Because you forced your magic through a couple of 'sluices' only and didn't bother to open the others. _That_ is where anger and desperation come in - as well as hope. Those emotions - and let's not forget hate and love, of course," he smirked, "are the most powerful to my knowledge. Why? Because they overpower your mind and bring out your subconscious. Your true essence. And they snap open those remaining holes in the water tank your magical core truly is."

"Shouldn't you feel drained if you were to open more holes in the 'water tank', as you said? All your magic should come out faster - you should be feeling 'empty' afterwards..." Harry pointed out testily. Hermione would have thrown herself at the Nightslasher's feet, begging for more explanations but Harry was in no mood to forget what had caused this feud between the two of them.

"Hah! I knew you would ask that," Asmodeus delightfully (in its own way) replied. "The metaphor was only used to explain the multiple connection process, Potter. The other reason why people feel so tired after a duel is due to their working out too much or their not being used to casting certain spells with great frequencies. In case you haven't noticed, many duelers or Aurors can remain perfectly well and fit after a half hour of constant fighting while your average, lower class citizen would be exhausted after five minutes of setting up shields and counter-curses, without, of course, the possibility that they'd fry their brains trying to remember the incantations," he scoffed.

"I see. And...is there a way to see the size of one's core?"

Asmodeus remained silent for a moment before smiling. "Yes, but it implies using two liters of your blood and two square meters of your skin," he replied with a concentrated expression.

Harry immediately felt his face pale and heard, from afar, Asmodeus sigh exasperatedly. "Why the hell do I always get those who don't have an ounce of humor? By Lestoat's fangs, I was only joking!"

_The probability of finding him funny would be smaller than ever seeing Voldemort agreeing to get rid of his evilness and become an upholsterer..._

* * *

"I swear, Cilia, this guy is a complete maniac!" Harry frantically cried out, two inches short of running around the table in circles.

"Oh, come on, I know he's a bit touchy when it comes ta..." Priscilla began apologetically, waving a hand in front of her. "Touchy? TOUCHY? What kind of people would retort to a comment with a Brain-Bashing Hex?" shot back an incredulous vampire, his eyebrows threatening to travel to the moon back and forth with the sheer strength of his consternation.

"Don't be so whiny," admonished a frowning Cilia. "He may be, well, indeed, _rash_, but he would never kill ya. He always tries ta snap tha' neck or maul tha' offender, never with a spell or something like that...so, since yar head is still very well attached ta yar shoulders, ya shouldn't fear anything," she went on, half-jokingly, half-seriously. Harry collapsed in the nearest chair and took his head in his hands, all the while muttering a, "you're not comfort material, you know that?"

Cilia shrugged and downed her pineapple juice before facing the young wizard. "Tell me, how've ya been sleepin' these past few days? I've heard ya tossin' an' turnin' quite a few times," she asked, concern filling her features. Harry indulged himself with a large intake of breath before slowly turning towards his mentor. "You've heard that? Well, I suppose I can't deny the truth - my nights have been very agitated very lately," he admitted, bowing his head.

"I could tell," replied Priscilla. "Nearly woke up Lizzie too with all tha' racket ya've been raisin'. Reminiscences?" she asked, lifting a blonde eyebrow worriedly. Harry shook his head and replied, "no, those dreams are now gone...no, there are more like...visions or something that sounds like that," he clarified, seeing the puzzled look on the young woman's face. "It's not even that they make any sense for all they're worth: they always picture a forest burning and trees dropping to the ground in flames. Nothing more, nothing less. Then I hear a scream but that's when I usually wake up drowning in my own sweat."

_That's also when I regret not dreaming about showers and girls- hey! Wait a minute! Where did that come from?_

"Is it always tha' same thing you're dreaming about?"

"Yeah," Harry breathed tiredly. "It's beginning to take its toll not only because it prevents me from getting my beauty sleep but also because I can't figure out what it's all about. It's becoming an obsession," he admitted resignedly.

Priscilla reclined on her chair and gulped some more juice, her brows furrowing in concern. "Ya should maybe talk ta Asmodeus 'bout it - who knows? Maybe he's got a trick under his sleeve ta get ya rid of those nightmares - he's a wizard. I ain't a witch."

_Goodness...I really don't want to become dependent on him..._

Harry nodded before retreating to his bedroom. "Makes sense - I'll ask him tomorrow to brew me a Dreamless Sleep potion if he has some in his private closets. I guess that since he's living alone he should have a full larder and a large stock of ingredients somewhere, shouldn't he? Well, I'm going to turn in. Goodnight."

"Night, Harry," she reciprocated, raising her glass in acknowledgement. Harry smiled softly and closed the door behind him, getting himself to his bed where he dropped himself without a further thought. Sleep came without any problem, sending him in the plane of dreams. But this time he was too exhausted by his training to allow his brain to be riddled with figments of its imagination.

* * *

Hermione's visits to the Dane bookshop became something Harry eagerly looked forward to. In a matter of days, both of them had gotten back to their old relationship, foregoing the new differences between both of them and consequently mending their wounds. The bushy-haired Hogwarts prize student even had to admit to herself that when she didn't think about it, vampirism was not something that could go between her and her friend as a dreadful nuisance. True, Harry had changed physically but behaviorally, the development was to put on Cilia's credit as she had been the one to rouse the raven-haired wizard from his depression and beat into his head a new way to gaze at life. She had to eventually admit that vampirism wouldn't probably have influenced Priscilla's ministrations. While she remained quite attached to rules, Hermione didn't mind having a carefree Harry around her; in fact, it was almost a relief and a pleasant sight to see him climbing out of his previously gloomy and taciturn mood. Fifth year had seen a rift take place between the trio as Harry had been shelled with countless problems - most of them originated by Umbridge, Fudge, Voldemort or the Slytherins. Sirius' death had done nothing to appease the tension, far from it: it had just worsened Harry's descent towards hell.

Getting to see him smile for the simplest excuse was almost liberating for Hermione - insomuch that she couldn't bring herself to talk about the wizarding world lest he drop his cheerful mood and revert to his older self - withdrawn and gloomy. Yet when he asked her about the Order she partook with him the few pieces of information she had been imparted with, through Fred and George, who still eavesdropped on the organization's gatherings with their now legendary Extendable Ears. What she had learnt, however, was so meager in content and amount that Harry felt very disappointed. Not with his classmate, of course, but both with Dumbledore for dillydallying and the Order for not taking enough initiatives. As Hermione once had commented, the emerging conflict was now burying itself into a phase that many could have likened to the European trench wars of WW-I. Both sides were waiting for each other to make the first strike and open the hostilities - 'playing chicken', as Harry put it so sarcastically.

Nevertheless, the Ministry of Magic went to many lengths in covering up as Harry seldom heard about strange occurrences either on the telly or the radio - when Lizzie wasn't monopolizing either of the two. At times the anchorman or woman would tonelessly report a mysterious death here and there in the United Kingdom but nothing that would establish sufficient grounds for worry for the non-magical folk. What was more surprising was that the reporters, usually despairingly keen to establish links between unrelated cases, didn't bother or had the idea to liken those events to each other. Obviously either the Muggles were more oblivious to those happenings that Harry ever thought or the Ministry's Aurors were working overtime. Casualties left bodies behind and Harry knew that the Muggles wouldn't be fooled forever. One day they would notice that something amiss and an enormous threat was lurking behind them, mocking their blindness with shameless arrogance.

Despite Hermione being an intelligence goldmine (relatively, all things considered) in the Order's dealings, the amount of information coming from the secret organization was scarce at best and the reports its members gave to Dumbledore were too uninformative to be useful. The only piece of interesting news they brought back was both puzzling and not comforting in the least: the Dark Lord was growing restless and was avidly searching for something that eluded his sight. Everybody could easily guess what Lord Voldemort had his mind on...and could only pray that everything would turn out for the best.

For others, life went fluidly, without a hitch...except that one could not easily dismiss Asmodeus' lessons as either painless or easy to grasp in the least - enough to make Snape scream bloody murder at the concurrence. The number of bruises Harry suffered from those sessions was enough to make the most insensitive surgeon wince in sympathy and those were only the beginning of a long list of wounds as he had barely begun his apprenticeship. As Asmodeus loved to remind his student, Harry had not 'lost his foreskin' yet and had still a lot to learn from the world around. The only answer he indulged Asmodeus with was a wry growl that would have made werewolves drop tears in pride.

Life with Priscilla resumed its pace back to its earlier state save for the appearance of Hermione in their life...yet the bushy-haired witch was forbidden from entering the Danes' threshold for safety and security reasons, as Harry wanted to cut short the amount of risks of being discovered both he and she would willingly take. Hermione's presence in a bookshop was enough for her to give a remote explanation to the Order - should someone drop on them unannounced - but her being in a household full of vampires was something she wasn't looking forward to explain, understandably, especially to a group meant to fight the _dark_. Although she was slightly miffed at being denied the opportunity spend extra time with Harry and Priscilla, Hermione relented on her requests and finally accepted the deal he and the two Nightstalkers made: that they would and could only meet at _Papers and Booklets, _during daytime only.

In the meantime, Harry had finally mastered, thanks to Priscilla's extensive tutoring, the Shadowcloaking Technique and was already putting it to contribution and in useful application. His nights were definitely becoming increasingly interesting.

And that was enough to make him forget about Asmodeus.

And Voldemort.

* * *

The man was stout and obviously quite sleepy.

To an onlooker's eye there was a fifty percent odd that he was one of those lowlifes who wasted their health the whole night forcing alcohol down their windpipes either to forget the difficulties of life or just to satiate their vices. Was he divorced? Had he just lost his job? Did he slake his vices in any other ways than shameless addiction to liquors? For some who were concerned about the condition of human nature, it might have been something of interest, or of pity for some for those who relished getting devastated by the cruelty of life for their own feeling of superiority. But for Harry it didn't matter.

In his eyes, tonight, that man was just a prey.

To be fed from.

The man was five feet seven and weighed probably more than a hundred kilograms. No apparent sign of illness except for the early state of inebriety Harry easily picked up just by looking at the hand clasped around a half-empty bottle of Mackeson Stout beer and the drowsy look the drunkard sported. From his vantage point of view, in a mass of shadows huddled under a tree, Harry could see that this time his prey wasn't one of those lowlifes that probably lived in a messy three-room apartment in the outer periphery or in the squats downtown. Those always had terrible health, didn't bother bathing or were as slimy as Severus Snape's hair.

The man passed next to the concealed vampire, oblivious to the danger lurking close, ready to pounce on him. He merely burped in contentment as he took another gulp of his favorite beverage, relishing the bitter numbing the drink offered him. Harry smirked, knowing that the man would probably take two hours to understand what would be happening to him should anyone attack him at that moment. As he was still a trainee and a childe with little experience heretofore, Harry didn't dare take on anyone fully aware or that could easily retaliate and send the whole hunt to hell. For the moment, like most predators, he had to remain content with the weak, slow-witted ones who wouldn't give him any problems. Convenience was the key word. Ease. Safety. The man shuffled drunkenly and let out a deep yawn, scratching his chin absent-mindedly, only bent on spending the night the way he usually did. When he was two meters away from the hidden vampire's position, Harry decided to go in, not for the _kill_, but for the _bite_.

_Now!_

Harry ran out of his hideout and sprung forwards, still keeping the Shadowcloak around himself. His footsteps, thanks to his vampiric abilities, were inaudible in the still night, as if frozen by the lingering chill.

His arms shot forward, wrapping around the man's neck, and he slammed his palms in the intersection of the jugular and the jaw, taking care not to rupture or cause any problem to the neighboring carotids. With a muffled gasp the man went slack, then fell to his knees as the lightning-like blow nullified his consciousness. Harry slung one of his victim's arms over his shoulder and pulled the limp body up, dragging him back to a fortunately deserted back street. Behind him, arms crossed and eyes shining in the cold night, Priscilla rewarded him with an appreciative, approving smile. Harry reciprocated the gesture and retreated towards an alcove of darkness, where he propped the man on top of a fallen trashcan before leaning forwards, fangs bared and glistening in anticipation. He bit down slowly, sinking his teeth into the greasy, fat flesh and allowing the sugary, coppery-flavored blood to rush forwards to meet the insides of his mouth.

The much-welcome manna immediately sent his senses into overdrive, causing his mind to enter a delicious frenzy, which only served to amplify the delectable feeling as his perceptions were doubled by growing consciousness. After a minute, Harry pulled his fangs out, wiping his mouth with a satisfied grin and allowing his companion to have her share of the night. Apparently, childes always shared with their sires when on a tandem hunt, to respect millennia-old traditions.

Fifty seconds later, the female vampire stepped back with a grin. "Good, good. Ya're learnin'. Excellent," she lauded him. "Too bad he had so terrible habits," she said afterwards. Harry shrugged playfully and looked upwards at a nearby lamp, shielding his eyes to lessen the light's glare. "Next time, I'll try to find a millionaire, how's that for you?" he joked.

"Well - let me talk ta him first, I might be able ta receive a Lamborghini as a gift first - then ya can have him."

"In your dreams," he grinned, feeling like resuming their playful banter.

_I own a Firebolt - would that account for a Lamborghini in the Muggle world?_

"Hey," she protested but with the same mood, "ya can't blame me for at least tryin'!"

Harry shook his head and walked away from the dead end, into the still deserted street. Priscilla followed him, checking her wristwatch. "Still kinda early, don't ya think so?"

He glanced at his own watch and agreed. "Want to hit a bar?"

"Nah - I had my fill t'night. No need. I was thinkin' 'bout teachin' ya a few additional things that might come in handy." Harry's ears perked up at this. His coaching by either Priscilla or Asmodeus had grown exciting by the minute as he discovered the advantages of being a vampire - all of which came with a slight annoyance such as exaggerated awareness or old human reflexes preventing him from tapping into his newfound resources. They were still too deeply entrenched in his rachidian bulb to be changed in a matter of hours. Exercise, according to the Nightslasher, was the only way to accustom oneself to new rules of existence and new privileges. But that didn't mean his apprenticeship with him was all the more agreeable...not in the least.

"Such as?" he enthused.

"Shadowblendin'," Priscilla replied matter-of-factly, causing Harry's eyes to bug out in disbelief.

_You must be fucking me! Oh, wait, she's a girl - but, erm, well, that's still possible, isn't it? Holy, barmy, bloody Lestoat..._

"Shadowblending? Really?" he asked eagerly, feeling as if the Quidditch House Cup was being offered to him for free. Priscilla grinned at him, confirming his wildest hopes. "Yah - right in one. I think ya're ready for it - ya've done quite a good progress with tha' Shadowcloak so I suppose you're in for tha' next step of blendin' with tha' darkness." She gripped his arm and led him towards one of those small courtyards that could be found behind the boisterous alleys of Little Whinging. The contrast was surprising for most as it seemed that the small town was riddled with invisible boundaries that marked a brutal scission between activity and desertion. However, those areas were very useful for people who longed for discretion...

Like vampires, for instance.

"There - Modie took me here when I learnt it first, too," she explained, her eyes once again clouded by a dark veil that hid their former brightness. "I think it's yar turn ta learn tha' tools o' tha' trade."

"Like a tradition," Harry chuckled, rubbing his hands together expectantly. "For neophytes like me."

Priscilla smirked at him, an admonishing fresh on her lips. "With vampires, nearly everythin' is related ta traditions, Harry. Especially if ya're two or four hundred years old. People tend to fib 'bout new trends an' social evolutions."

"I guess," the young wizard acknowledged, looking around to take in the surroundings. Like most of the locations she had taken him to for his training, there were numerous places conveniently filled with darkness to practice the Shadowcloaking Technique - one which often required at least a certain expanse of shadow to help a student concentrate. Vampires felt more comfortable when surrounded by the dark for the drew power off it. "Okay," she coughed. "Now, face tha' wall here," she pointed to a red brick wall and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. "Think 'bout tha' shadows an' gather tha' Shadowcloak 'round ya. As usual - we'll jump ta tha' Shadowblendin' from there," she instructed, her tone taking on serious notes.

Harry did as he was told and soon enough, wisps of black air appeared on his limbs, finally engulfing his entire body and leaving no mass of flesh or hair peering outside. "Excellent!" Priscilla praised. "Now, concentrate harder an' try ta think that yar body is nothin' but, let's say, _wind._"

"Come again?" Harry blurted out, taken aback. "Wind?"

"Yeah, yeah," she confirmed, displeased by his lack of attention, which had caused the Shadowcloak to recede somewhat into nothingness and unveil his face. "Concentrate. Keep yarself focused. Ya always think o' yarself as a body with a trunk, two legs, two arms an' one head. Ya must lose that perception - now think o' it like a bottle or a cage. Ya're imprisoned inside an' ya must desperately get out. Those are barriers that keep you _in_ but you must get _out_. Remember our first lesson? I wanted ya ta think that ya were like_, liquid._ Ya become _water_. This drill is similar ta that one save for tha' fact that ya need ta become _air_ or...yeah, floatin' liquid. Yar body is a mold - yar essence is inside, like a liquid trapped in a bottle. Ya must will that recipient, that _barrier_, ta disappear."

Her hypnotizing voice slithered through his mind like a spellbinding caress. Her tones burned through his thoughts and, much like a chain tugging at his neck, beckoned him to follow her instructions. The world around faded as he concentrated on her words, willing himself to drown into nearly submissive forgetfulness, which only her directives could pierce through. She instilled him with a sense of willingness that could only belong to a welcomed trance. Hypnosis.

Harry felt his skin prickle, much like it usually did when he Shadowcloaked. The feeling slowly spread through his entire body but instead of remaining on the surface, this time crept inwards, as if he had been doused in cold water and his warmth stolen away. The sensation remained strong for a moment, then thinned out. "Excellent, Harry, ya nearly did it!" Priscilla enthused, seemingly satisfied by his progress. "Keep yar mind on it - don't lose tha' feelin' or tha' idea ya used ta summon that feeling. Keep thinkin' that ya're water in a bottle - tha' walls of glass are strong then they become quite soft...then no more. Picture that again and again. Solid...soft...no more...solid...soft...no more..."

Her leitmotiv seeped its way through Harry's thoughts, as he willed his nerves to believe what she told him to. He wished for this reality and those sensations to become true. Her truth. The prickling came back, shyly at first, then with more conviction, this time snaking through the intricacies of his mind like a traveler treading through a maze of infinite complexity. His muscles once again tensed and his body began, slowly but surely, to morph into intangible shadow. He felt the tingling accompanying the swirl of the Cloak wrapping itself around him but an odd feel in his chest told him that there was more to the transformation right now than his consciousness let him on. His limbs suddenly grew numb, to the point that he couldn't receive any more information from them...as if only his head and torso existed... The rest was gone...shying into nothingness, meshing with his body like small puddles of water joining with a greater pool...fusing together. He felt something wash over him, coming from the inside and outwards, rippling through his lean frame and setting his nerves afire.

_I hope I didn't 'splinch' myself or something like that...that should only be possible for Apparition...but who knows?_

"Yes! Ya did it! Harry, quick, open yar eyes!" Priscilla called to him, from the depths of his consciousness.

As if living in a dream, Harry dazedly complied to her order and his eyes were greeted with a sharpened sight of one Priscilla Carisse Dane. She was flushed with excitement but the eeriness that Harry felt with her vision was caused by the amount of details he could perceive...every thread of her blouse, every strand of hair in the cascade of gold that ran down her neck onto her back, every pore of her skin...it was as if someone had slapped a miniature Hubble telescope on his face and forced him to look through the plethora of lenses and electronic magnifiers. Breathing heavily, he looked downwards. Had he had a mouth to talk with at that moment, he would have gasped.

For he was now gazing at a floating cloud of darkness, shapeless and almost diaphanous, lingering in midair as if held by unseen strings hanging from the sky. What had once been his feet and was now just a mass of twirling blackness, was floating at least one feet above the damp pavement, no longer in contact with the ground. Once again, just like for his first Shadowcloaking training session, Harry's concentration wavered under the strength of his conflicting emotions, as astonishment, elation and fear flashed through his mind. He took what his brain thought would be a staggering step back and was rewarded by a push that nearly sent him flying away from a startled Priscilla and into a nearby wall. Thankfully, his Shadowblending form had not yet receded into his former physical, solid shape and he felt nothing but for a scant second, as his body of shadows 'splattered' against the mass of bricks, he believed to feel an unnerving sensation of being crushed...flattened...before his body retook its usual volume and 'bounced' back, like a highly deformable rubber ball.

But...the problem then was that at that particular second, his concentration finally broke free and his body consequently reappeared in its solid state in midair, two feet above the ground, torso slightly pitched forwards...no longer above its center of gravity. Harry cussed loudly as he fell on the ground, too surprised to bring his hands in front of his shoulders to dampen his fall. His face slammed roughly into the ground, chasing the air out of him. "Harry!" Priscilla yelled as she ran to him, "are ya alright?"

As he tried to get his bearings back, the young vampire, still in a daze, felt two hands hauling him off the pavement and back onto his feet. "Ouch."

"Yeah. Ouch." He brought a hand to his cheek, wiping off some dust from his face. "Bleeding?" he asked.

"Nah. Grime only. I _smell _nothin' an' I _see _nothin'. But ya did it! On yar first try!" she said, delighted.

"Yeah," Harry replied, a bit disappointed to have messed up his first attempt because he had been unprepared for the sight of his Shadowblender shape. "I really fucked it up at the end, didn't I?" he inquired meekly, brushing his knees with his hands. Priscilla frowned in response, startled by his self-dejection. "Don't go all dejected on me, fang-boy! It's a great achievement, succeedin' on yar first try, ya know? Bangin' yarself on a wall is nothin' compared ta yar bein' able ta do it like that without prior meditation trainin'."

Although her words were quite placating, Harry still felt a tad guilty about it but didn't voice his reluctance to accept her praise in all its entirety. "Well, I get Asmodeus for the self-control training, so I guess it should be accounted as prior training, shouldn't it?"

She shook her head wistfully. "Ah...boys..."

"Hey, that's the way we are!" Harry protested. "You can't really blame us for that! And besides, what would you do without us males?" he retorted with a smile that would have split mountains in its own way. Priscilla seemed to consider his playful question for a moment, then waved her hand dismissively. "A looooot of things..."

Harry gaped at her - apparently not prepared for _that_ answer. Then his lowered his head in defeat. "I see you've learnt too much things from Asmodeus for your own safety," he mumbled tiredly. _One Asmodeus is enough - one Snape is enough - three look-alikes in this world is overkill. Genocide. And I don't need that if I ever want to survive._

"But that's the way I am," she unabashedly returned.

"Tell me something I don't know," he sighed. Priscilla glowered at him without enmity and ran a finger on his chin. After a minute she spoke up. "Anyway, ya did great, no discussion here. I think Asmodeus would have been quite impressed had he been tha' one ta supervise yar trainin'. Tha' transformation was complete ta seventy, eighty percent in my estimation. We can work on tha' last thirty or twenty in tha' next days, no problem 'bout that. However, ya do tend ta lose yar concentration real fast when ya're either surprised or confronted ta somethin' quite unexpected. I guess I'll hafta ask ya ta resume those Occlumency lessons with Modie..." she muttered.

Harry felt his insides go numb, the memory of Sirius and the circumstances that led to his death still fresh in his memory despite his new life.

"Occlumency?"

_Occlumency?_

"Yah. He told me that it was one o' tha few disciplines, along with yoga an' meditation, that allowed tha' student ta clear his or her mind with maximum efficiency. I took meditation...but I heard ya talkin' once 'bout Occlumency, right? So...instead o' learnin' somethin' new like yoga an' most likely gettin' yar limbs outta their sockets durin' tha' first meetin's, I guess ya could continue what ya already started, eh?" she answered with a bright smile. Harry pondered her proposition then nodded slowly. "I'll think about it. I took up Occlumency because I had those headaches and a Dark Lord on my heels but it didn't yield any results," he answered quietly, his mood dropping from 'sunny' to 'abysmally gloomy' in a few milliseconds. _Not to mention that I had an utterly incompetent teacher more __bent on breaking my mind rather than reinforce its defenses._ "Besides...oh, well, I'll try it again, okay? That's all I can promise," he said a bit forcefully, compelled by Priscilla's slight glare in his direction. Once again, she bore that particular 'do-it-my-way-or-I'll-give-you-a-vasectomy-without-anesthesia' look.

To his relief, she seemed to take his agreement positively. "Right. It's really important, Harry. Shadowblendin' is like breathin' for vampires. It's an important part of us...it's...I don't know...like tha' cats' ability ta always fall on their paws when they fall..." she explained, struggling with her words. "It's...vital. Somethin' ya need ta learn no matter how hard an' how long it will take them and tha' sooner they get tha' gist of it is always tha' better."

Harry held a hand up in acceptance. "Alright, I get it, I get it. No need to hyperventilate for that."

Priscilla shot him a slight frown then started walking towards the more bustling arteries of Little Whinging, leaving the shadowed courtyard behind them. "Harry," she sighed, "As I said, Shadowblendin' is more important than ya think. Ya managed it on yar first try an' I'm very impressed an' satisfied by yar feat." That brought a almost imperceptible blush on Harry's cheeks as he still was very touchy when it came to congratulations or praise. His being the Boy-Who-Lived had somewhat rendered him quite allergic to that type of treatment. He still had the memory of his first visit to Diagon Alley in mind. However, with close acquaintances of his, compliments had much more significance to him than any others'. "But," she resumed, oblivious to her companion's reaction, "tha' Shadowblendin' Technique is not only used for our hunts but also for defense. It's camouflage. A shield, too. As I once told you, when ya're in that form, nothin' can hurt you, save, MAYBE, for tha'...uh...tha'...what's it, again? Tha' killin' curse. I'm not sure but I think that's tha one. If ya need ta be prepared for a fight or whatever will befall ya, ya'll hafta master tha' Shadowblendin' as soon as possible. I'll try ta get Modie ta continue our lessons with more practical applications."

"Right. I understand," Harry said, putting a hand on her arm. "Thanks for your solicitude."

"It's okay," she replied with a half-watery smile. "It's maybe because safety an' security are two things I'm very attached to," she explained with a faraway look, which Harry caught with no small amount of worry. Here she was again on Memory Lane, probably ensconced in a travel back to a time that had marked her. Yet she said nothing about it and Harry respected her decision not to. Everyone had skeletons in his or her closet and it was up to the aforementioned individual only whether to divulge their secrets or not.

"I understand," Harry repeated, trying to snap her out of it. Then, once again, as she nearly always did after those sessions, that fake smile was back on her face. But Harry found no comfort in it, although he took it as a relieving gesture...the will to go on.

_At least she keeps on fighting...while I'd maybe be wallowing in depression and self-pity..._

"So...shall we make a contest ta end this day?" she offered mischievously, her grin spreading from ear to ear. "Tha' one who gets most preys durin' tha' next half-hour will be tha' one ta buy tha' drinks for tha' whole night! What d'ya say?"

And since Harry was still quite elated from his partial success on the Shadowblending Technique, his answer soared in the air soon after.

"You're on!"

* * *

While Harry still held an iron-like vice grip on his idea to return to the wizarding world as an underground vigilante, Hermione was still working on ways to make him come back unhindered by prejudices and slander. She didn't partake that bit of information with him but her interest in thick books yammering about equality and humanity didn't go unnoticed by the young vampire. It didn't take two minutes for him to guess what she was planning to do.

From what Hermione had 'officially' told him, she was currently working on something, he deemed, would throw a gauntlet in the conservative world that was the magical community: a declaration of magical creatures' rights, based on its Muggle counterpart, but extended to a point that its privileges and restrictions encompassed a wide variety of conscious and intelligent beings ranging from goblins to hags and maybe even - and that's what caught Harry's sharpened eye - vampires. That word, on her drafts, had been underlined three times in red. Although Harry knew that more than one attendee of the Wizengamot gatherings would have a heart stroke upon its reading, he was both delighted and worried by his friend's project. The thought of having vampires finally gain some liberties within the wizarding world was more than enticing and could pave his return back to that forsaken environment of his but he knew that the draft she was determined to submit to the higher-ups of the British Ministry of Magic was wont to end up in a garbage can if not in another dimension, never to be seen again.

Much like in the United States, the abolition of slavery had met intense opposition before it was legalized and Harry was sure the same scenario would occur in this timeline and world.

But one failure wouldn't deter Hogwarts' prize student from submitting other drafts, till officials would at (very long) last pay her a little attention and indulge her with a little respect for her intentions. She just needed a good ear to give her thoughts to and some consideration, but in a world that was heavy with secular prejudice, it was a mission doomed to failure from the beginning - and only time would tell whether the ship she was commanding would come safe in harbor. Of course, Harry had the decency not to share his opinion with Hermione, as he was sure she would bristle at his pessimism towards the whole matter. He was friends with House-Elves and knew they wouldn't accept the idea of freedom any more eagerly than a man would like to be snogged by a troll, tongue included.

Normally, that would mean...not at all...logically.

But would she forego her endeavor? Not a chance in a lifetime, Harry reflected. Not until she'd score at least one success - the first brick of the edifice she wanted to erect above the towers of Injustice. She needed support and despite the predicament he was currently in and the restrictions in life it entailed, Harry was willing to support her - at least to make her happy and not depressed with the lack of favorable response for her projects. And the last thing she'd need now, as she was so close to realizing one of her dreams, was someone shirking away from his duties and leaving her in the middle of the road to tread another one, more convenient and easier. Faithfulness was one thing Harry had come to cherish more than everything after Sirius had died. He wouldn't tolerate betrayals and felt that Hermione harbored the same feeling.

So he wouldn't balk away from his self-promises.

And he could only imagine what she would do to him should he ever dare enroll the services of a House-Elf, either willingly or unwillingly. A series of scenarios flew through his head, each more preposterous than the other...yet terrifying in content.

TAKE ONE:

_"Hermione, I'm now the master of a House-Elf. Are you okay with that?"_

_"WHAT? DIE BY MY HAND!" she roared - the sound oddly similar to the rending shriek of an enraged Hungarian Horntail._

_The following scene included himself (in the meantime having been magically castrated, pelted with dungbombs and covered in NEWT level Transfigured pincushions) being thrown through the window of the Astronomy tower with his legs attached to his heavy trunk. In the background, Professor Sprout was shouting to the falling Harry not to land on her puffapod plants._

TAKE TWO:

_"Hermione, I'm now the master of a House-Elf. Are you okay with that?"_

_"What? Harry! How could you do that to me with everything I've been doing for S.P.E.W.?" Hermione wailed._

_"Look - I know but it couldn't be helped. I know SPEW is..." he began._

_"It's S - P - E - W, not SPEW! I knew it! You were only pretending to agree with me! I've had it with you and your act!" she lamented miserably._

_The next scene showed Hermione committing suicide by strangling herself with the clothes she had been knitting for Hogwarts' House-Elves._

TAKE THREE:

_"Hermione, I'm now the master of a House-Elf. Are you okay with that?"_

_"Oh yes, Harry," she answered nonchalantly, not even raising her eyes from her '_Hiking with Hinkypunks_' documentary book by Thomas 'Odd-eared' Oddwaggle for her Care Of Magical Creatures essay. "I'm okay with it." Harry sighed in relief, not believing he escaped a mighty rant from his best friend about slavery and dignity._

_"Really?" he asked hopefully as she closed her book and snatched '_Harrowing Beasts: Howling Hellhounds_' by Felix Bogmole._

_"Yeah. Only that..." she grinned maliciously, making her friend start sweating bullets. "What?" he questioned, feeling that the first part had really been too good to be true._

_"I'M GOING TO BREAK YOUR FIREBOLT FOR THAT CRIME, YOU BLOODY SODDING ENSLAVER!"_

_"WHAT? Hermione, don't you - come b- hey! NO-! NOOOOOOO!"_

_The next scene would logically picture himself weeping pitifully over the shards of his broken broom while a crazed Hermione cackled in the background._

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST, TAKE FOUR:

_"Hermione, I'm now the master of a House-Elf. Are you okay with that?"_

_"Harry?" Hermione shrieked, disbelief etched onto every feature of her face. "How could you do that to me? That's enough - I will no longer stay around you...you emotionless bastard - I'll stay with the true love of my life!" she decided, angry but resolute tears rolling down her reddened cheeks._

_"True love - what do you mean?" he asked perplexedly. In response, a nondescript figure emerged from nearby shadows and linked its arm through Hermione's, smiling broadly while the bushy-haired witched happily latched onto the proffered limb._

_"No way," Harry breathed, horrified. "DOBBY?"_

_The aftermath was left to the dreamer's imagination but one thing was sure: it wasn't pretty to behold._

Of course, Harry would never express these thoughts to her since there were times the truth hurt more than lies did...and certain things didn't need to be voiced but as long as both of them worked together...everything was alright.

"Hermione, tell me, why are you doing it right now?" Harry inquired wearily, dropping a pile of _Hola! _magazines on a nearby aisle. She usually helped him with the renewal of the merchandise offered but this time she had preferred to pour over large books that, by their cover, seemed to rant endlessly about laws and their modern applications.

The look she slapped him with was anything but friendly. "I beg your pardon? Harry, the importance of this-" she huffed.

"No, no, no, _no_...," Harry interrupted. "I know how much this means to you but why would you want to have all of this done while there's a war breaking out? Wouldn't it cause more confusion or resentment from the Ministry? Uncooperativeness? You know wizards wouldn't accept that even if it were to save their lives, don't you? It would take generations for them to accept the idea of slavery's abolition - look, even more than a hundred years after the death of Abraham Lincoln and his idea to set slaves free, wizards and witches still keep House-Elves. Why would they accept it now, especially when they have other matters on their mind? They would only give you the evil eye - and you'd pass as a madwoman in the Ministry's point of view - not exactly what we're seeking for, aren't we?"

Hermione clamped her hands over her temples and sighed. "I _know_, Harry - but if nobody builds the _foundations _to what I'm trying to legalize here, then nothing will change in the future. Either you try a gamble and risk a loss or a victory or you don't. Even if this takes three hundred years to become reality and my work was at its very beginning...this history of abomination's conclusion, I'll be happy. Even if I won't be there to see it come true," she said with a shake of her head. "I know it will take time, money and strength but the work can be started...if the seeds are implanted within the Ministry - even if they're ultimately ignored - we can still hope they will blossom in the far future...into something more realistic if need be."

"Okay, okay," Harry amended, "but why in the middle of the war?"

"Nobody knows when it's going to end, Harry," Hermione declared with a regretful voice, "but I thought that...by creating more leeway for certain people in the Ministry...like species and races we have alienated from us, we could...gain more allies...offer them more than Voldemort could ever do...a chance to acceptance..._happiness,_" she concluded with a pleading voice. "Freedom is happiness, Harry - that's what I believe in."

"Like for vampires and werewolves," Harry asked, his expression blank. Priscilla's ears had perked up at the word and she was now looking at them interestedly. "Yes," Hermione smiled. "Hopefully."

"You're going to get a lot of resistance, do you know that?" Harry questioned, trying to get an idea of her stubbornness' extent. He was rewarded with a vehement nod. "Let them do their worst, Harry. I'll keep on trying. And I'd like you to do the same."

_That's the Hermione I know._

Harry beamed at her reassuringly.

_And, oh yeah, I will._

* * *

Walking through a crowd full of excited youngsters all the more eager to get themselves drunk for the rest of the night wasn't always an easy task. Little Whinging wasn't known for having excessive or heavy criminal activities but as for all bustling places flooded by hyped individuals, brawls and other animosities were to be expected. Each night saw at least one intervention from the local policemen and the arrest or temporary detention of a few overexcited people. Drugs, were, thankfully, hardly found in this town, but, as Priscilla said, it was just a matter of time before the dealers found the small haven for partygoers that was Little Disraeli Avenue and took it as their own.

Harry stepped to the right, avoiding a particularly stout, shaven head-sporting man whose breath reeked of ale. Scrunching his nose in disgust, the young vampire looked away, trying to avoid the whiff of bad air emanating from his neighbor, drawing closer to his mentor, who was happily oblivious to the disturbance on their left. However, even though vampires were gifted with subliminal abilities that helped them pass unnoticed, her good looks were easy to attract the attention of people who didn't have anything better to do than wantonly flirt with the next girl in their sights. While he knew that those people had even less chances in engaging his mentor in a successful conversation than seeing an ostrich dancing the polka, he still thought that it was his duty to spare her any form of inconvenience - at least while he was in her company. After all, he owed her that for all that she had done for him.

It was thus with a high amount of annoyance and a barely suppressed snarl that he saw the bulky man grab Priscilla's arm, cock his eyebrow suggestively and slur a "hey, babe, want to share a drink wi'me?" Priscilla's reaction, as usual, was a frown that didn't deter the offender, whose two companions, as inebriated as him, shot her wide, stupid grins. "No, thanks," she answered, tugging her arm loose. The man blinked owlishly, his lips curling into a slightly disbelieving scowl. "Heh? Whassat? C'm on, jus' a good shot - gotta enjoy the night, you know," he drawled, reaching again for her arm. This time Harry stepped in, feeling the situation getting out of hand. "Hey - you heard her. Leave her alone," he warned. Thanks to Asmodeus he had been able to school his countenance and adopt a blank face that held no room for contradiction or doubt.

The three turned to him, displeased by the interruption. "We didn't talk to you, buster - shove off," the man grunted. The others, who looked a lot like Muggle versions of Crabbe and Goyle, flexed their arms threateningly. "_What'_s she to you, 'nyway?'

That was the moment Harry's eyebrow began twitching and those around could swear, despite the relative freshness of the atmosphere that evening, that the air actually dropped some twenty degrees Celsius. "_What _is she to me?" he mimicked, his lips curling into a sneer. "When you talk about someone you have a lot of consideration for, you at least have the decency to refer to her as a _who_ and not as an object," he growled. The air surrounding him seemed like a mixture of heat and cold, streaming into an invisible vortex coalescing around his body.

"You little..." the grunt bellowed, raising his hand to unmistakably deal Harry a blow.

But he never had the chance to swing his arm.

Harry's hand suddenly shot upwards, so fast that it looked like a black blur to the gathered onlookers. His palm collided with the crook of his opponent's arm, causing the humerus and the forearm to adopt a bend they were neither meant for nor accustomed to. The ligaments holding the different bones to the elbow instantly snapped wetly, causing the man to howl in pain and collapse to the piss-smelling sidewalk, cradling his injured arm and breathing loudly. Harry's eyes darted to the two other goons, his irises glittering warningly. The two men were about to lunge forward to avenge their fallen companion when they saw the look the young vampire sent their way and revised their decision. They staggered backwards, into the ring of bystanders who were breathlessly staring at the weeping thug, who was muttering on the ground, still nursing his injury. Harry took a step forward, bringing himself close to the prone individual. He could smell the pain his victim exuded and relished it. He then knelt and leant to whisper in the man's face, "when a lady says 'no', she says 'no'. Don't mess with her. And don't mess with _me_."

He smirked at the wide-eyed stare his interlocutor gave him and stood up, before grasping Priscilla's arm and leading her out of the small ring of witnesses, away from the commotion. He could feel the eyes of dozens of by-passers follow his steps but he kept walking, still dragging his mentor behind him. "What was that for?" she said irately, finally breaking the silence. Harry blinked and looked at her in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Was it necessary to do that?" Strangely her accent had disappeared but he took no note of that.

"Was it-" Harry blurted, disbelievingly. "Would you rather I didn't intervene and let him harm you?"

"You could have done it without busting his arm," she returned, with no less heat. "You could have just told him to leave the fuck us alone and not bloody go to war like Montgomery running to El Alamein, damn it!"

"Didn't you see he was willing to use violence on me?" Harry snapped back. "That asshole tried to punch me because I _did _want them to leave us alone so I was in the perfect right to retaliate if not make a preemptive strike!"

Priscilla harrumphed but didn't offer an apology. Harry knew that the other reason why she was so miffed with his actions was the disrespect of vampiric rules that ordered them _not _to make themselves noticed by the crowd. Harry had obviously broken a dozen rules in the process and could easily have attracted the attention of policemen - rendering them not only vulnerable but also stripped of their cloak of anonymity. It was also a shame that Priscilla's beauty, sometimes, overpowered the subliminal messages vampires naturally radiated in order to walk unseen through crowds. "Anyway," she grumbled a less aggressive tone, "where did you learn that move?"

"Which one?" Harry asked.

"Tha' one ya used ta pop his elbow out," she sighed exasperatedly. Her accent was now back full-force. "Oh," Harry said. "Asmodeus gave me a crash course or the body's articulations and how to use them correctly, which ones were critical and so on - but it was a prelude to my self-defense tutoring, to know which articulations I should target on an enemy's body in hand-to-hand combat."

"I see," Priscilla said, nodding in approbation. "Was kinda neat."

_You bet - I wish it were Malfoy or someone else in that bloke's stead but I guess I have to make due_, he thought, cherishing the idea of seeing a squealing pale, blonde teenager cradling his broken arm while hopping around like a frenzied kangaroo.

"Well, you do learn very fast when you've got a vampire nearly bouncing at the prospect to demonstrate combat techniques on _his student's_ body," Harry huffed. "Either you learn it the second he shows you or he'll use you as a demonstration dummy." That, surprisingly, brought a laugh from her, as if her anger had been turned off by a hidden switch. "Typical Modie fashion."

She stepped aside to avoid a burly-looking man who looked like a ZZ-Top hardcore fan and skipped to her right, getting herself to the entrance of one of the countless bars that littered the crowdy parts of Little Disraeli, the _Chintzy Twilight. _Sighing at the name, Harry followed her, immediately greeting with the now familiar onslaught of motley sounds of people going about their business and banter, animatedly engrossed in their own conversations. The smell of sweat and the reek of bad breath mingled with fresh beer instantly assaulted his nose, causing him to scowl at the wafts floating in midair. He looked around and found the form of his roommate walking towards the bar, straight towards two individuals - a dark, straight-haired woman in her twenties and a slightly older man with curly brown hair, both reclining on stools and oblivious to the world around. They were apparently too much taken by their talk to notice Priscilla walking up to them before she got to interrupt their conversation.

_Hmm?_

Harry frowned despite his being accustomed to hearing bartenders or regulars greeting her as it was rare seeing her directly interacting with fellow drinkers or nightclubbers; he assumed those two were exceptions she may have wanted him to meet. As he made up his mind and took his first step forward, he blinked as a familiar sensation rushed over him, setting his odd sixth sense aflame with a feeling of dawning recognition. A sort of caress in the back of his mind warning him of the proximity of...

Fellow vampires.

It was just like when he had first met Priscilla and how he had managed to recognize her for what she was.

_There were other vampires in Little Whinging._

The revelation was enough to make him freeze into place, like a deer caught in headlights. However, as thoughts raced through his mind, he was jerked from his mild bewilderment by a frowning Priscilla, who called him, "hey, Harry, come here!" Harry blinked twice, shook his head and warily approached the bar, his nose now filling with the dulcet smell of the two immortals, which were gazing at him with amused interest. They were definitely People of the Dark and from the underlying musk he could perceive, they had not been Turned in recently. It was more like wine - the sensations were stronger with the passing of Time. Harry guessed they had experienced their change more than twenty years ago...or so he thought. As Priscilla took his arm as he neared the trio, before turning to the new acquaintances.

"This is Christabel, Christabel Hargraves," Priscilla said, introducing him to the dark-haired vampire. "She's another regular in this area." Harry nodded and returned, "Potter. Harry Potter." The traditional glance at his scar then followed, much to his wry annoyance. "Six hundred and ninety-nine," he murmured, sighing resignedly.

_Same shit, different day..._

Christabel coughed, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "Six-what?"

"Six hundred and ninety-nine stares at my scar," he explained with a shake of his head. For once, the vampire in front of him didn't have the decency of looking embarrassed; in fact, he was rewarded with a chortle. "I should have known lads like you would keep count of _that_," she grinned impishly, clearly not feeling guilty about her tactlessness. "Six hundred and ninety-nine, huh? You should buy a beer to the seven hundredth," she advised him.

"That'd be me," supplied her companion in a deep, raspy voice. "Clyde. Clyde Morrow. And a Baz's Bonce Blower for me, thank you," he offered, stretching his hand out. Harry shook the proffered limb and blinked. "Isn't that a bit strong for such a hot weather?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Clyde shrugged, as if it didn't matter.

"At least I'm not inhaling petrol. Last time I went to Jamaica I met a werewolf that once downed a cocktail made of vodka, sangria and whisky as if it were just water - just after he finished a bottleful of the drink he lit a match and exhaled on the flame to impress a few guys next to him. The stunt was rather impressive but that night he...ran out of luck. Quite a sight, too," he said, with a faraway tone. Almost nostalgic. His companions, however, cringed at his tale.

"That'd have hurt," Harry observed with a wince.

_I'd like to see Fred and George trying that - they'd never be able to sip Butterbeers anymore...poor esophagi of theirs..._

"Nah. He said afterwards that that was only the eighth time it had happened to him," Clyde deadpanned. "The only thing he lost that night was his beard. One second he was looking like Fidel Castro with dreadlocks and the next one he was doing a pretty good impression of Salvador Dali with frizzy hair. Rather unnerving, that was. According to what I've heard, certain werewolves can't deal with the transition...and, you know," he smiled, twirling his finger in front of his temple. "Their gray matter do a good rendition of _'Gone with the Wind'_."

"And you keep telling me I'm the poetic one," dryly observed Christabel, her tone accusatory.

"Hey, I'm not the one who commits holdups in the local libraries, on a weekly basis, thank you!" he protested.

_Holdups in the local libraries? Where did I hear that again? Oh, yeah...true...Hermione. But last time I checked she was not prone to commit violence...or was she? Damn._

"Well, it's not _Bonnie and Clyde_ yet but it's a good beginning, seeing your name," she shot back.

"Hey!"

Harry massaged his forehead, feeling a sudden craving for his bed and a ton of Aspirin tablets. "You're weird, you know that?"

"Look who's talking," retorted Priscilla, with a barely hidden smirk.

"You've got a point," Harry conceded, ordering a Coke from the bartender and, as an afterthought, the rather strong beverage Clyde had asked for. "But still..."

"All vamps can be considered crazy or nuts at a certain point in their life," Christabel confirmed with unconcealed mirth. "Maybe it's because of our age or..."

_Oh - being old makes you a dunce? Aren't we supposed to be eternally young?_

"Speaking of that - I don't want to offend you, but how old are you?" Harry questioned. Clyde hissed amusedly while both females narrowed their eyes at the intrusive question. Christabel leant forward, her eyes glimmering dangerously. "If there is ONE question you can't ask a woman..." _Good Lord, the Potter Line DOES have a curse residing in the inability to NOT offend women...I now know why we are also known for being fast flyers...after all, we do need fast ways to escape rampaging women..._

"One out of MANY, after all," Priscilla clarified, her glare latching onto a cowering Harry. _Yeah, that time of the month. Note to self: I need to have my lips sewn together in order to evade future problems with hyped women_.

"What?" Christabel said with a raised eyebrow, catching the exchange between the two. She leant forward, grinning mischievously. "Care to share with us? Something juicy to talk about? Spill, spill!" she sing-sang, much to the unhidden annoyance of the other female vampire. Harry was too busy tugging at his collar to notice Priscilla's grumbles. "None o' yar business, Chris."

"Aw...then you won't mind if I take your friend here aside to have a chat with him?" she returned with the same twinkling smile, swinging an arm over Harry's shoulders, who tensed immediately as she began dragging him away. "Hey!" Priscilla cried. "Ya leave him alone - an' ya, Harry, if ya dare tell her anythin' ya might be liable for, I'll cap yar..." she warned, eyes turning crimson. Which was a bad sign for his safety. And health. Especially for certain parts of his body.

"Okay, okay," he whimpered, as Christabel released her grip on him, chuckling. "Mmmh. So easy."

"Girls, don't get too overboard, it's only the beginning of the night," snickered her male companion.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Harry muttered. The glint in Clyde's eye at his comment was by then enough to make him break a sweat.

* * *

"Bowling? At _this _ungodly hour?" Harry exclaimed, looking at his watch. "It's a quarter to midnight!"

They were at a small bowling club on the northern side of Little Disraeli Avenue, where the nighttime activity was much more moderate but not lacking in intensity in the least. The lanes were nearly all filled with friends indulging themselves in a match to vent off what remained of their energy for the evening. Some of them had already bottles of beer ready for the final round and hoots and hollers were shooting from one side to the other as misses and strikes alternated. Harry, still wary at the over-energetic, hyperactive pair that was Clyde and Christabel, and not really comfortable taking part in such competitions where he was pushed in the front line, glanced around to find a way out. Yet a barrier named Priscilla still kept him onsite and on his toes.

"Well, it beats doin' it right after breakfast," Clyde retorted as he positioned himself in front of the lane and launched his ball, which flew - rolled - straight into the group of tenpins, knocking them off onto the ground. The vampire let out a whoop of satisfaction and let his opponent - Christabel - take her shot. She swung with practiced ease and managed to get a strike, earning herself a smug, almost dismissive look from her companion. "Get your ass in gear, Clyde darling," she simpered.

_Ouch, how sweet...I'm lucky not to be diabetic..._

"Yes, dear," he replied in the same honey-ish voice. One could easily sense the playful tension building between the two and the thrill of competition consequently settling in, securing its domination without problem. Much to his unease, Harry saw from the corner of his eye Priscilla's hand twitch, much like it did each time she was getting agitated, stressed or excited. As if to confirm his fears, the female vampire slowly turned around, a sweet smile on her lips. But the look she sported was more...mischievous than anything else...and _that_ was enough to make Harry gulp nervously.

_I'm the Dead Man Walking...I'm the Dead Man Walking..._

"Harry...how 'bout a round with me?" she offered in a sing-song voice. Harry tentatively looked on his right, only to see Christabel slamming enthusiastically her ball into the huddled mass of tenpins, for the third time consecutive now. And it seemed as if the two other members of their group had no intention letting the heat of the match go down without a fight...and Priscilla was apparently very responsive to such competitiveness, judging by the way she was flexing her arms, her composure otherwise claiming, _I won't lose to you tonight, fang-boy. Suit yourself or you'll be biting the dust!_

"What the hell did I get myself into?" Harry asked the heavens miserably.

Neither God nor ceiling dared answer him.

* * *

"Poker? Why would I-" Harry questioned in stupefaction. Jokes were fine by him but there were limits to be respected, lest...

"Oh, come on, we'll teach you how to play, don't be such a spoilsport!" Christabel said, swatting his shoulder in a playful manner, before pushing him inside a mezzanine located above the bowling room, overlooking the lanes and the groups of contenders.

"But I don't-" Harry protested weakly.

"Otherwise it'll be strip poker for ya," Priscilla warned, closing the door behind her, her fangs growing dramatically to show how much she was enjoying this. "Ya won't be spoilin' tha' fun outta this night, fang-boy." Her infamous grin was back, with canines prominently jutting out of her mouth and eyes thinning into slits excitedly.

"WHAT?"

Suddenly, Quidditch, which was a sport that caused many casualties and injuries around the world in the wizarding community, looked much safer than Madam Pomfrey would ever admit in a thousand lifetimes. The table in the middle of the small room, complete with a small buffet, could easily likened to a torture table, now that Harry thought of it...and the glasses set on the tablecloth were much like instruments meant to break his will...

Oh, yeah, Quidditch was much safer than that matron would ever admit...

And it was still an understatement.

* * *

When they finally went outside the club at one in the morning, Harry was as white as a bed sheet.

"You're all crazy!" he muttered.

Christabel sighed loudly and sent him a pout. "Blistering barnacles, you know you don't have an inkling of a clue as to how get a little fun, do you?"

"Fun? FUN? How is threatening me with-"

"Quiet, fang-boy," Priscilla warned lazily, causing Harry to shut up as if she had hit his 'off' button. With the fierce, almost ecstatic way she had contended against him during their four rounds tonight, both in poker and in bowling, she had managed to beat the living daylight out of him and consequently make him go quiet in fear each time she were to speak up. Clyde looked at the three amusedly and scratched his chin pensively. "Mmmh. This boy sure is kind of calm-loving, isn't he? You'd prefer sitting in the background, watching the others instead of going to the front, right?"

"I didn't see that behavior earlier this evening," Priscilla chided, referring to their encounter with the drunkards just before the meeting in the bar. "Ya must have split personalities or double standards, ya know that?"

Harry rolled his eyes at her, a trifle annoyed with her teasing but he was more afraid of what she would do to him later this night if he were to misbehave. The air was growing cold but the young wizard didn't pay any attention to it, having now grown accustomed to the gentle bite of the nocturnal weather. Vampires were in their element and the darkness wouldn't threaten him. Just the opposite. It was home for them vampires and by the way his senses grew sharper as he relished the cool air around him, it was also a cornucopia for his body. He was roused from his wandering thoughts by the raspy voice of the other male vampire in the group.

"Anyway," Clyde announced, glancing at his Rolex with a raised eyebrow, "I think we're done tonight - we both have business to attend to tomorrow-"

"Funny you say that," chirped Christabel off-handedly. "Every time I pay you a visit I always find you dawdling. Yet you claim to have work to do?" she smirked.

"Wait a minute-"

"Ya know, ya can do that home, can't ya? No need ta hurt sensitive an'...sensible ears here," Priscilla chuckled, playfully pulling at Harry's earlobe. Harry groaned at the attention she had been paying him. Obviously Clyde and Christabel offered a bad influence on his guardian for this motto for this night seemed to have been 'gang up on Harry'. "Hey, Cilia, cut it out, please," he grumbled, swatting her hand away from his head. The other two snickered before Priscilla shot him a fond but apologetic smile and turned to the remaining pair.

"We'll see ya later - for tha' moment I think both o' us will be quite busy with our respective business," she stated. She shook Clyde and Christabel's hands, before bidding them goodnight. Harry did the same and watched the two go away, still buried in their banter. "Shall we go now?" he asked, feeling tired despite the action the night had on his body. At Priscilla's nod, he turned around towards the next area they usually visited during those nights.

Just as Harry was about to make his first step forward, a loud bang erupted overhead and behind him. The young vampire spun back, greeted by the sight of an enormous spider of light stretching its sparkling legs across the skies. A few delighted yells and hoots emerged from the night crowds. "Ah, yeah. Forgot there were fireworks tonight," Priscilla said, cheered by the sudden disturbance. "Oh."

She glanced at him, apparently surprised at his lack of reaction. "What? Don't like it?"

Harry shook his hand and looked away. "No...it's just that I never knew there were fireworks for summer, this time of the year..."

"Yar...relatives?" she offered, tentatively.

"Yeah," he returned with a short, wry nod.

"Bastards," she muttered, before grabbing his arm and leading away, towards Old Mattison Street, where a cheap restaurant awaited them for a late dinner.

* * *

"How did you meet them? Clyde and Christabel, I mean," he asked as they came back home and silent entered the darkened apartment so as to not wake Lizzie up.

"Long story," Priscilla said with a weary sigh. Surprisingly those nightly hunts had their toll on vampires who still had to work during daytime, while nighttime was usually the period where their abilities were at their strongest. "But basically I met them in a bar near Goadeling Pass, sippin' daiquiris like vacuum cleaners. They were quite knackered, ta tell ya tha' truth. I even hadta help them back ta their apartment - they've been livin' together for sixty-four years, from what they told me. They still remember Queen Mum when she still was a lass to whistle at," she answered, snickering. "Anyway, I dragged both o' them back ta their place an' I had ta crash down too 'cause I was too tired ta go back home. I kind o' worried Lizzie with my absence but fortunately I managed ta reach her by usin' their phone. Now I meet them near Little Disraeli...from time to time. Ya should hang 'round Clyde a bit - ya could learn a thing or two - that guy can be a goldmine when he wants ta. Besides, tha' best way ta learn is not ta narrow yar education ta a few sources only. Clyde's reliable so I guess it's okay ta talk with him a bit. He's not one ta gossip or brag 'round 'bout who he knows or who he met. He can be serious when he wants ta or when he needs ta."

"Oh. But...why did you make me meet them?" Harry questioned, still grouchy about how they had teased him mercilessly all night long. "Was it for fun or did you have something else in mind?"

"Oh, still angry 'bout that?" she chuckled, the sound ending up as a barely concealed yawn. "Sorry if I went overboard but I guess their energy is quite...contagious," she apologized. "I do tend ta go a bit beyond tha' acceptable with them - they're so impish with each other that one like me can't but feel a bit amused by their game. There's a chemistry between them I sort of...feel jealous 'bout," she admitted, her voice once again receding into that faraway mode. Whether she was filled with nostalgia, regret or sorrow was still unknown to the Nightslasher-in-training. "I wanted ta share tha' joy they can radiate with ya, I guess. Wanted ta cheer ya up. Even though that girl came back I wanted ta make sure ya didn't get too gloomy with tha' stress yar trainin' entailed."

"Ah," Harry answered, a bit at a loss for words. He couldn't, however, but feel a bit of gratefulness for his roommate and the trouble she went through to take care of him, despite their still nascent younger brother-older sister relationship. "I..." he said, struggling to come up with an appropriate thank-you. "I...I...aw, shucks...to hell with words," he exclaimed, causing Priscilla's drowsy eyes to widen at his expletive. "Even if I was a bit awkward with all of it and I was uncomfortable with the teasing and the attention, well...thank you for the night...Cilia," he said, using her nickname to show that he was moved by her solicitude and held nothing against her. He could feel a wan smile forming in the darkness on his interlocutor's lips, thanks to his vampiric abilities. "I'll do better next time," he promised.

"Glad it took yar mind off unpleasant thin's, at least," she commented. "But...I also wanted ta introduce ya ta some friends o' mine - tha' few vamps I've got ta met. I mean, meetin' tha' local community. It was time ta present ya ta a few choice individuals who'd keep tha' silence 'bout ya. I made sure o' that."

"I see," Harry approved. "I don't think Asmodeus would have liked hearing myself screaming my name on top of Little Whinging's roofs. He'd go volcanic on it," he laughed. "And I'd never see the end of his rant about secrecy. He'd probably lock me up in his cellar to make sure I won't...'go strutting around with my pompous, attention-seeking ass in front of the Little Whingingian gallery of possible Death Eaters'..."

Priscilla guffawed at his impersonation of Asmodeus. "Besides, they are quite lively folks, aren't they?" Harry questioned, dredging everything back to Christabel and Clyde. Maybe they could help him in the future - who knew? Priscilla yawned again and answered the query.

"That's part o' their charm - it's their trademark characteristic. They're inseparable but independent in appearance. Even after a hundred years o' livin' together, they still manage ta maintain that young-lookin' relationship o' theirs as fresh as before. They're incredible in their own way, I'll admit it - ya won't see two o' them in this world - they're unique," she smiled affectionately. "But they're quite antithetic in essence an' they love ta flaunt that in each other's face ta restart their endless chatterin'. Tha' fact is - he's an accountant an' Chris is a part-time journalist. Normally, with his job, Clyde should be tha' serious one, but strangely it's tha' other way round," she said, chuckling softly. Harry shook his head wryly. "Yeah, I saw that. Are they trained or not?"

"Huh? Whaddya mean? O' course they're trained - they had their sire trainin' them like fresh recruits at boot camp, if ya're askin'. At least, that's what they told me - they're much older-"

"No," Harry interrupted, trying to clarify his words. "Sorry - I worded it wrongly. I wanted to ask whether they were Nightslashers or had any connection with the vampire community."

"No, they're jus' Nightstalkers. Why d'ya ask?" she questioned, her brow furrowing.

"Just wanted to know - I don't know much about the vampire community apart from what you leaked to me. If I were to reconsider what you told me I would imagine the vampire society as a secret one - almost living, you know, in a secret town or something like that. Yet you also say that our...kind...lives in towns, among Muggles, in order to not attract the wizarding folk's attraction."

Priscilla nodded and began to elaborate her explanations. "Think of it as a country with a capital. The capital is where everything official happens while other, lesser cities are also full of inhabitants. That's what I was tryin' ta explain ta ya - tha' capital is a place known as tha' Mansion o' tha' Black Moon', in reference ta one of tha' oldest vampire groups in British history. That's where tha' Council convenes when needed - otherwise they live in secluded spots or amon' tha' Muggles, for discretion, as you said. There are, indeed, important places where vampires gather but they aren't...cities with homes, so ta speak. We find it more convenient ta remain amon' Muggles."

"To feed," Harry immediately completed.

"Right," Priscilla confirmed with a nod. "Maybe ya should ask Modie ta introduce ya ta that world. One day, maybe. If ya want," she yawned. "Good Lord, I'm blasted from toe ta head. Can't believe it."

"If you want we can skip one hour before going to the bookshop; what do you think?" he offered.

"Sounds like a winner," she answered, from her position on the couch. Her eyes were closed and her limbs limp from exhaustion.

_Shouldn't I be the exhausted one?_ Harry wondered.

"Do I have to carry you back to your room?"

She opened one bleary eye and fixed him. "I think I'll take yar offer," she said, faintly grinning, extending her hand. Harry took the proffered limb, slipped one arm over her shoulders while the other gripped one of hers. He hoisted her off the couch and led her to her room. He grabbed the handle and silently pushed the door open, ushering her in.

"Thanks," she said, steadying herself with a hand on the doorframe. "It's nothing," the wizard replied. "Goodnight." Before Harry turned to walk towards his room, she leant forward to land a kiss on his cheek. "Goodnight, Harry." Then she closed the door, leaving a frozen vampire standing still in the corridor.

Approximately ten minutes passed before he snapped out of his trance and trudged towards his bed, still in a daze. "Women," he muttered. "Always getting to you when you're prepared the least."

And he had a lot of experience to support his opinion.

Indisputably.

* * *

He awoke the next day with a slight headache - the indisputable consequence of drinking too much while still having weak resistance against alcohol. While Priscilla placated his inability to 'hold his booze like a pro' by reminding him that he still had eternity to accustom himself to heavy drinks, mornings begun with the feeling of a thousand anvils tap-dancing around the head was in no way an agreeable manner to start the day.

Fortunately for him, as they had both agreed to before going to bed, they went to work an hour later than usual, much to the disgruntlement of one Hermione Granger who had to worriedly trundle around in front of the bookshop, thinking that something might have happened to her vampire friends. "Drunk? What do you mean by 'drunk'? she exclaimed indignantly as Harry recounted what had happened yesterday night. "Harry James Potter - don't tell me you-"

"Hermione, please," Harry protested, "could you lay it off for a moment? I said Priscilla had been three glasses short of getting drunk last night - I wasn't," he corrected. Hermione glowered at him and _humph_ed, still not content with the idea of her friend drinking alcohols in what she thought would be shady bars, even though it was part of a vampire's feeding ritual. Besides, Harry didn't really expect her to forsake so willingly her abiding by the rules or codes of conduct - after all, it was part of her being despite several cases in the past where she was willing to discard them but only for a greater purpose.

Like brewing Polyjuice Potion surreptitiously.

Lying to teachers for Harry's sake.

Or traipsing through the Forbidden Forest as if on hiking holidays.

But today she was having none of it. It was 'law-abiding-Hermione day'.

_Just my frigging luck. Damn you, Krishna._

"I can't believe you, anyway-" Hermione raved on, trying to vent off her steam. Harry sighed loudly and shushed her, annoyed by her ongoing lectures. "Please, Hermione, you have to bear with it - it's part of my training, trying to impersonate a partygoer. Drinking liquors is a behavior you find in most pub-crawlers." Priscilla's quiet nod reinforced his explanation and that apparently was relatively enough to appease the brown-haired witch. But her eyebrows remained fused together for the entire morning. Midday, however, brought its own set of news around the table in the back room.

"So...what's new from your side? Have you received any owls lately?" Harry asked after taking a bite of his marmalade sandwich. Hermione, who was indulging herself with a sip of orange juice, looked at him. "Well, I got three owls from the Weasleys and one from Professor Dumbledore. Nothing else."

"And?"

"Well, for the Weasleys, it was mostly from Ginny but Ron also owled me a letter about my search here - he wanted to join me but Mrs. Weasley absolutely forbade him from getting a toe out of the Burrow. They are back there for a week before they'll have to relocate to Hemwade House next Monday - it's one of Dedalus Diggle's family properties. I heard that Neville and his grandmother went to the Narrowden Hall - which is also under the Fidelius - so that they would remain out of the spotlight."

Harry rapidly caught on the last part of her announcement. "You mean that the Daily Prophet is buggering those who have lost relatives in the first war or who had taken a part in our...little expedition, don't you?" he asked quietly. Hermione shot him a worried, unsure look and acquiesced wordlessly. "They are also symbols, Harry. Professor Dumbledore fears that Neville might be a target for Voldemort because he was one of those who had actually stood up to his minions in the Department of Mysteries," she corrected, cringing at the sound of Breaking Benjamin's lead singer bellowing in the background music. She apparently didn't go well with Harry's new musical tastes but didn't go against it as long as those tunes kept him happy or lively.

"Surprise, surprise," he mumbled, just as Priscilla slapped him gently on the arm and _tsk_ed.

"Anyway, the Order is reorganizing itself but everyone has a hard time coping with the impending movements and the fight against the Dark Side. There have been two attacks as of lately...and three new Order members have already..." she choked. Harry nodded grimly. "Blood has been shed, eh?"

_I bet that that must be an expression cherished by vampires...how many Galleons everybody?_

"Yes," she answered in a strangled voice. "It was a trap but only two Death Eaters of the outer ring were captured. That's the bad news. Professor Dumbledore warned me that Voldemort had been quite busy as of lately - apparently he had been conversing with a few unknown individuals and little are those who know who they were. Even Professor Snape was unaware of those meetings until he overheard Voldemort mentioning it to Bellatrix Lestrange in one of those Death Eater gatherings."

Harry's ears snapped up at this. "Snape?" he spat," he's _back in the business_, you mean?"

_That slimy, bootlicking, serpentine, ass-_

Hermione concurred, a slight smile gracing her lips. "Yes, he somehow managed to get back in the Dark Lord's graces but he is now in the outer ring and no longer in the inner one, despite the fact that it had been depleted of most of its members after our battle in the DoM."

"I see," Harry said tonelessly. "So he tried to suck his way up just when Voldemort was reestablishing his chain of command to keep his troops afloat. Clever."

_Could you expect less from an oily, grease-haired Slytherin? In all honesty?_

"Hey, Hermione," Priscilla spoke up for the first time, "ya said that there were conversations with that dark bloke o' yours, didn't you? Can't ya tell us more 'bout it?"

"No," the young witch replied with a shake of her head. "Voldemort only referred to them as 'those people'. According to Professor Snape, 'they' must be quite powerful because Voldemort didn't use denigrating terms - which is quite unfamiliar for someone the likes of his."

"Oh," Priscilla said, blinking. "People who could help him? Apart from ya wand-wavers, I don't see any group that could provide him with any help that could tip tha' balance in his favor...enough to earn, apparently, his respect."

"They must be wizards," Hermione affirmed, her forehead crinkled in consideration. "Your reasoning is sound but I believe 'they' are wizards, probably from other countries. Professor Moody told me Voldemort recruited allies and supporters in the Eastern countries back in the first war and the same phenomenon should arise again in the next few months if the same pattern reemerges," she said desolately. "But the Ministry isn't even thinking about calling for help, Harry. They still cling to the belief that they can vanquish him on their own. After all, Voldemort was vanquished by a British citizen - though a baby at that time - hence he must be killed at the hands of a compatriot."

_Are you kidding me?_

"Bloody, prideful-"

"Language," Priscilla enunciated loudly, "an' temper."

"Sorry," Harry apologized meekly. "But my opinion is sustained no matter what."

"No one said ya had ta change it," the other vampire retorted. "But remember what I told ya for ya trainin'? Ya must learn control."

"Okay, okay," Harry interrupted, raising both hands in acceptance. "I get it. Chill."

Hermione, on her side of the table, blinked at the interaction and leant towards the blonde Nightstalker. "Tell me, how do you manage to get him all schooled? He's usually more hotheaded than that," she asked with a frown and a tone that was impregnated with a tinge of jealousy. "And getting him to study like a good boy is like trying to get a Hippogriff to sing Caruso's greatest operas. Mission impossible. Yet you succeed flawlessly. How do you do that?"

Harry nearly choked on that, while Priscilla graced him with a wide, almost sadistic grin. "I have my ways..." she said sweetly.

"You should give me some tips one of these days," Hermione mumbled, ignoring Harry's protests, which were almost immediately drowned in the background as the two females initiated a conversation of their own, leaving a bemused and slightly apprehensive wizard to his marmalade sandwich and an odd feeling of foreboding.

Women...couldn't live without them and couldn't live with them either...

And there were times, in strange moments of unnatural lucidity, that Harry found them harder to figure than a serial killer psychopath.

At least those didn't have mood swings. And they would only kill you at once, not prolong your suffering for entire weeks.

Women...bane of Men's existence yet joy of their life...

* * *

"The Incineritus curse was created in...approximately the 1700s, by radical groups that roamed through London to steal goods from the Muggles. Especially alcohol and products that preyed on human weaknesses and addictions. At that time, the Aurors, who were still led by a King -" began Asmodeus, before Harry interrupted him.

"A King?"

"Of course," snapped the Nightslasher. "Royalty died in the wizarding world two hundred years ago when the last direct heir, Uther the Fourth, died of lung infection, wifeless and heirless. The fight that ensued among the aristocracy to decide who, among their numbers, would succeed to the departed sovereign, incited the Wizengamot to bring an end to kingship and disperse those well-off castes and bring a new dawn to this world. I think they were quite marked by Muggle ideas of liberalism and socialism, as well as the first touches of equality. Needless to say, there was a major uproar among the Purebloods, which were less than pleased at seeing themselves stripped of the power they had amassed over the centuries. On the other side, new wealthy individuals who aspired to have their share of the proverbial cake, were delighted to see another obstacle to fame and success disappear. The feud raged for years, unabated and without any sign of relenting."

"So that's why some of the Purebloods want to have their hegemony restored," Harry thoughtfully said.

"What else could have scorned them so much, in your opinion?" growled the other vampire, stopping his pace in the candlelit training room to conjure a book with a wave of his wand. He leafed through the pages and sought for certain passages. "According to many a book about the 'Golden Age of Purity', as those pompous asses now call it, Muggles and Muggleborns weren't THAT discriminated before the Industrial Revolution. Most of the wizards weren't as...pure...as many would hold them to be nowadays. Purebloods just frowned on them and judged them beneath their value, nothing more, nothing less. In this book," he said, pointing to the one he held in his hand, "_Accounts of Olde Times and Chronicles of the Wizardes' Past_, there was nothing but contempt based on the ideas of castes, but nothing else. Of course there resided a lot of hate towards the Muggles for the hunts against witches and sorcerers in the Middle Ages but most of our kind managed to fool those pagans and credulous idiots and escape the fate of being thrown in blazing pyres or cast in rivers with rocks attached to their feet."

"Like Wendolin the Weird," Harry said, remembering one of his essays.

_Being burnt for fun...wow...talk about being barmy..._

"Exactly," confirmed Asmodeus. "When kingship ended, the contempt they directed at Muggleborns turned into hate. Why? Because most of the privileges bestowed on them by the Kings were revoked so as to ensure that all were equal before the law - although such a theory was bound to become an idealistic absurdity. Bribes were offered, threats were thrown left and right to officials and the idea soon turned into codswallop. Equality became nothing more than a broken dream. Much like your Muggle Peace and Love theme."

"You know about _that_?" Harry sputtered. Mr. Weasley had a lot of interest in the Muggle world but was less than likely to survive a day off in downtown London without being imprisoned for deranged behavior in the streets. There were even less wizards, aside from Muggleborns, who were aware of Muggle themes and social phenomena.

"Do you really think I am a retard or a dotard hermit, Potter?" the vampire snarled, fangs snapping out.

_Do you really want to know?_

Harry immediately slapped his blank face on, trying not to incense his master while not cowering under the accusation. "I didn't say _that_ - but knowing certain wizards..."

"We vampires basically feed on Muggles, thank you. THAT is why we are aware of so many things about the non-magical folk. Because most of us dwell among them. We live with our time and are forced to adopt the different trends of society as years fly by so as to _pass unnoticed_. To _blend in the background_," he grudgingly supplied. "Anyway, Purebloods got outraged by the edicts and tried to regain control of the Wizengamot and restore the ways of old. What they didn't expect, however, was too see that three quarters of the council were now made of those new wealthy individuals. Self-made men, so to speak. They were so engrossed by the riches and decorum of aristocracy that they neglected keeping a hold on the Wizengamot. The King _protected _them, _fed_ them...but when the last one died..."

"Everything came apart," Harry finished for him. Asmodeus nodded and with a second wave of his wand, vanished the tarnished-looking book.

"Everyone came undone, yes. Eighty to ninety percent of those self-made men were Muggleborns. So who was to blame for their fall? Who would be the designated scapegoat to hurl stones of Justice at? The Muggleborns. And who, ultimately, would be to blame for...producing...those Muggleborns? The...Muggles."

"That's a bloody selfish reasoning," Harry commented, frowning. "It doesn't even make sense! Their apathy was their downfall so why did they -"

"Potter, Potter," Asmodeus chided chillingly. "Use your brains. In their opinion, their loss of privileges was the consequence of a massive trap, be it the truth or not. Historical veracity doesn't matter anymore today. The fact was that Muggleborns took the advantage given by the departure of the country's leader to enact their own decisions and get the other sources of power out of the picture - so that they could reap what the others had so diligently sowed. Basically that's their own point of view and the reason why they abhor so much the idea of bowing to people whose lineage are shorter and less prestigious than theirs. It'd be like kowtowing to demands of upstarts that stole their lengthy work and centuries of hard toil."

"So you're saying that their fight is justified?" Harry asked, becoming quite uneasy with the current discussion. Should Voldemort play that card...

"Their reason for asking for justice, yes...although that remains to be determined and a lot of fur would fly in the courtrooms and there would be no culprits to designate anymore. The idea of dispensing Justice is stupid in its essence for too many years have passed for it to remain flawless anymore. On the other side, the means Purebloods employ are _not justified in the least_. And the way they behaved afterwards, no either. Their opinion got impaired. Only those who have Muggleborns and Muggles as relatives are of lesser radicalism."

_And...what about the Blacks and the Malfoys? Apart from Sirius, none of those holier-than-thou slimeheads changed their behavior or grew up grudgeless towards Muggles or Muggleborns._

Harry took a few seconds to ponder that, then resumed his questioning. "Then why don't they promote that part of History instead of wallowing in that 'Mudblood-means-weak-and-dirt' crap?"

Asmodeus grinned savagely at him, obviously relishing the situation. "Because it was far easier for them to use their hatred and nurse it into their battle-horse than speak the truth. Does World War II, the Third Reich and the Jews tell you something?"

"Well..." Harry began, but he was rapidly cut off. "No matter how true or false your words or justifications are, in certain cases, the sentiment itself suffices. If you manage to find another excuse to justify your actions then you can transform your endeavor into a holy crusade. And that's what the Purebloods did."

"That's below the belt..." the young apprentice muttered indignantly.

"It is nothing, Potter, but a reflection of Man's darkest side. Our insecurities, our promptness to bear rancor, our weaknesses and everything that makes us vulnerable to the simplest thing out there. Don't you see it?"

"Do you always have to see everything in black?" Harry sighed wearily. "I understand that one must not dismiss the dark side of reality but it won't really do you any good in the long term..." he trailed off. Asmodeus stopped in his tracks and glared at him, his eyes as harsh and cold as the muzzle of an antitank cannon. "When you will have known nothing but darkness and hardships then that said darkness will become a part of your life, Potter," the Nightslasher whispered viciously in return, his fangs growing exponentially. "It is a part of you, of your _soul_!"

Harry lapsed into silence, not feeling within him the strength to find an irrefutable comeback. Instead, he let his master rave on and him, with increasing animosity. "It is also a way of living - for those who are marred with the darkness, are born within or become part of it, risk much more by IGNORING that obscure part of themselves instead of embracing it."

"What about Voldemort, then?" Harry choked in disbelief.

"He embraced it," answered Asmodeus with a grim smile. "But had he tried to quell the dark flames set within his soul by his own fate, he would have then become a madman impossible to stop."

"And?"

"And?" Asmodeus snapped in annoyance.

"Is it better to abandon someone to the darkness rather than try to save him?"

By now, Harry was wishing for a downpour of sharpened halberds to fall on his master's head.

"You speak of the darkness as if it were a cancer or some sort of illness you could get rid of, Potter," Asmodeus snarled, striding over to his apprentice's location, his steps belying his fury. "News flash, Potter: you cannot get rid of the darkness - it is either wide awake or dormant within you but it _never leaves_. It is _always there. _Think of it as a...scar," he hissed, his eyes darting to Harry's own old wound. "Time may cauterize it in the long run but it remains there. Either you tame its power or you let it consume you in the worst way possible. I leave to you the task of imagining what unbridled darkness can do to one's soul, should the said individual attempt to restrain it...bind it by openly embracing good."

"Is it that bad?" Harry retorted. "To embrace good?"

_Is it a crime to fight for happiness and peace? Even if I _do _seek for revenge deep within me?_

"Then you'll be ignoring a part of yourself, Potter," Asmodeus shot back, albeit with no little irritation. "Think of your soul as a country with many people...many personalities. If you start discriminating or isolate some of them, a tension will build within the territory. The pre-established equilibrium will be disturbed and conflicts will inevitably arise. The agitation will tear you apart - for many it starts as mere unrest or depression...but it often ends in _madness_. And tears. Or blood. Ever heard of Amherst Hammond?" he suddenly asked, swishing around to glare into his apprentice's eyes with renewed contempt.

Harry shook his head; the name was unknown to him.

"Not surprising. He was a werewolf - therefore someone unworthy or wizarding attention - who tried to put an end to his monthly curse by caging the beast within him. He used soul-binding spells as well as an unhealthy amount of potions to reach his goal. He was so confident about his project's chances of success that he didn't, during the nights he should have transformed, lock his house's doors and windows. For two moons nothing effectively happened. The treatment was deemed a success and some people thought Hammond had found a cure to lycanthropy. Even St Mungo decided to give him an award for 'exceptional contribution to society'. The Minister of Magic of that time, Timoleon Tottelingham, even went as far as thinking about a Order of Merlin medal..." he trailed off, resuming his circular pacing once again.

"And what happened?" Harry continued. Asmodeus' fangs glittered at him in glee.

"The fool went nuts. He started biting himself in his sleep and one day he assaulted one of his friends before mauling another - note that he didn't transform, he just became crazy in his _human_ form. The charms finally broke off one night of full moon," he explained, smirking, "and a werewolf appeared in a house with no locked doors or windows. Five neighbors were killed that night and eight Aurors were required to slay the maddened beast, which, according to the unofficial reports, was even more dangerous than your normal lycanthrope. Usually, when a werewolf attacks a human being, there are remains left behind. Evidence. They usually bite a huge chunk of flesh out and run away to eat their prize but here Hammond just tore his victims apart. He didn't bother to devour his preys - he just let his suppressed rage flow out of him."

Harry felt sick, trying to imagine Remus in that condition.

"The lesson you need to retain about this, Potter," Asmodeus summed, with a darkened smug expression, "is that your emotions, the different facets of your soul, are like raging beasts waiting for the first opportunity to lash out. Either you tame or befriend them but you don't try to _imprison_ them. You don't try to discriminate them, like Purebloods would do with Muggleborns. Otherwise, as I said, conflicts will arise - and not for the best...as if inner wars were a blessing, indeed!"

"So you're telling me to embrace the darkness," Harry concluded darkly, sensing his throat constricting as if pushed inwards by an invisible hand. "Is that it?"

"Glad you see you have some wits left, Potter," Asmodeus grinned waspishly.

His apprentice's lapse into silence, however, didn't go unnoticed.

"Snap out of it, Potter!" the vampire roared, slamming his fist next to Harry's head - his hand embedding itself into a nearby wall, causing chips of stone to clatter on the floor. "If you want to one day vanquish the Dark Lord then you will have to use _his very weapons_ - what he calls the 'power of the darkness'! You cannot win this war by blowing him kisses or sending him flowers, for Dracula's sake! You must fight poison with poison! The only way to vanquish a creature of the dark is by using the power of the dark itself!"

Harry glared at his master, _hard_. He was now wishing to rub Asmodeus' tongue with a butcher's knife. "Are you telling me to become a dark wizard?"

Asmodeus' answer held as much rage. "Have I said so? HAVE I? I told you to _muster and control the darkness within you and use it as a weapon_, Potter! I didn't ask you to _increase _the plague within you - just harness its might and its abilities. Think of it as a steed, a _maverick_ you must rein in in order to use it for your own purposes! A beast you must get under your own control," he shouted into Harry's face. "Yes, a _beast. _Like the vampire you are."

Asmodeus stepped back but he continued to unleash the fire of his eyes onto Harry's flushed face.

"Should you go too far, you will lose your sanity - that's a given...but I'm asking, no..._ordering_ you to make due with what you _already have_."

"What?" Harry sputtered. "What I _already have?_"

_What I already have? What's he barking about?_

Asmodeus' fingers rose to Harry's forehead - seeing this, the young wizard swatted the hand away, wishing for no contact between both of them. The other vampire glared at him through red, blazing eyes and hissed. "Do you think your scar," he pointed at the said mass of damaged tissue, "is the only thing you have received from the Dark Lord? His only gift?"

"How would you know?" Harry snapped back, sensing the nausea come to him like a dark tide rising to meet the beaches of his self-control.

Now that he thought of it, his behavior had changed somewhat over the past days...but was it truly because of his hormones, as Priscilla had told him? He was unknowingly beginning to doubt it, as panic overtook his sense of logic.

"Do you think I'm stupid, Potter?" snarled the Nightslasher. "I will remind you that I have lived longer than you and have the experience and recollection of _two hundred years _of memories - something you obviously don't! I have seen people cursed like you and bear a mark that was a hidden bond between the victim and the offender. I have seen individuals led to madness because of that type of link. People saw others getting killed, unwillingly sharing memories or developing split personalities that would spread discord through their entourage! I know that there is _more _to this scar than you think. There is _always _an exchange between both people during that type of accident. _Always_."

_"When you will have known nothing but darkness and hardships then that said darkness will become a part of your life, Potter," the Nightslasher whispered viciously in return, his fangs growing exponentially. "It is a part of you, of your soul!"_

The rising horror in Harry was ready to break free. The young wizard's breathing had grown shallow and his temples moist with cold sweat. "No. It's already enough like that," he said, eyes wide. "It's enough," he breathed, clamping a hand on his forehead, his finger running along the curse-scar. Parseltongue was the only thing he had received from Voldemort...yet the Sorting Hat had wanted to sort him in Slytherin...as if the layout of his soul resembled that of one of those that belonged there. And the Sorting Hat was never wrong, according to what Hermione had told him.

For it gazed unto the soul of the one who bore it.

_"News flash, Potter: you cannot get rid of the darkness - it is either wide awake or dormant within you but it _never leaves_. It is _always there_. Think of it as a...scar," he hissed, his eyes darting at Harry's own old wound. "Time may cauterize it in the long run but it remains there."_

"Potter," Asmodeus said, taking a step back, his cautious eyes losing their hardness. Harry's fingers raked against the damaged skin, as if trying to rub it away.

"I'm okay - I - I - I just have - that - that link - with him. And - and - Parseltongue - that - that's all!" Harry stammered, feeling sick to the bones. The idea was wrong from the start and tasted like a potion gone bad - the mere prospect made him want to puke his entrails out. Riddle had grown parentless, in an orphanage he had disliked thoroughly and had found comfort in magic...as the thought sunk in, more links came to add themselves to the mound he already had.

_"When you will have known nothing but darkness and hardships then that said darkness will become a part of your life, Potter,"_

"Potter!" Asmodeus shouted, slamming Harry into the wall and gripping his hands warningly. "Take a grip of yourself, damn it! Calm down!"

"No..." he muttered.

Then...yesterday night...

_"I didn't see that behavior earlier this evening," Priscilla chided, referring to their encounter with the drunkards just before the meeting in the bar. "Ya must have split personalities or double standards, ya know that?"_

"ENOUGH!"

Harry glared at his master with a haggard expression, trying to break free from the vice grip. "YOU CAN'T GIVE ME MORE - IT ISN'T TRUE - IT'S ENOUGH!" he raged, the crazed glint behind his brilliant green irises taking on a more maniacal edge. He couldn't be like Riddle. There was no way in hell he could be that comparable to his nemesis - the one being he loathed more than his relatives, Snape and Malfoy all in one. The possibility made him sick. He was on the verge of losing it all out and shout his denial in his teacher's face...when he dissolved in coughs and tremors.

That was also when Asmodeus narrowed his eyes and swung his arm, his fist connecting with the side of Harry's skull and sending the young man to the floor, unconscious.

* * *

_**To be continued...**_

* * *

**A/N:**

I apologize for the delay. The truth is that the end of this year (university) went like a 747 crashing on a nuclear power plant at mach 0.8 and the aftermath wasn't pretty to behold. Far from it. On top of that, accountancy studies and other subjects I won't mention kept my away from my faithful PC. The jewel on the crown of this string of unhappiness was, I regret to say, HBP. My reasons are not pertaining to the ships the book retained but in overall. I was very disappointed by the way our respected and esteemed JKR wrote this book and most of my disappointment is aimed at the disrespect of canon characterization and the turns of events (**please don't discuss this in the reviews** - it's just my point of view and I can be biased when I'm pissed off). I'll not tarry around this business apart from saying that in the future I'll definitely not ever base myself on HBP for my fics and will now go on with the usual author's notes. In this chapter, Lestoat was a vamp created by JKR for her website - once again, you can search through HP Lexicon to get to know him better - and, yes, his name was inspired by Anne Rice's book, _Interview with a Vampire._ Just delete the 'o' and you'll get 'Lestat'. Obvious. And, oh, _moy595_, the Goth thing had several reasons to be here - Harry didn't want to be recognized; he was seduced by that way of life (rock and whatnot) and he had somehow to blend in the throngs of partygoers and nightlife addicts. _Ominix_, I tried but I received jack shit. _Dragonmaster_ and _jollander_, I haven't said this was a TRUE H/Hr fic. Sure, he'll be hooked up with her...eventually...but everything's possible in the meantime. _Ember eyes_, I was wondering about that but I think Harry's still a stranger so she must be feeding on Priscilla, like Harry. _Tess_, a couple people told me that but I haven't thought about it. Thanks, though. _Shadowed Rains_, everybody's got his own flaws and qualities. _0o0o0o0o0o00_, this isn't slash, I assure you and I'm somewhat dismayed at the trend you mentioned. For that reviewer who decided to send me a flame so much for carefully reading my A/Ns and the announcement I made in my profile...talk about being truly considerate and respectful...and you, _one_, whoever said Priscilla didn't have any reasons to tell him to get his ass together? Hmmm? You don't know anything about her yet and I put up hints about her having bad memories. She's had her share of woes, too. So I guess she has the right to give him directives. And, anyway, if she didn't, then...who would? Someone needs to give him the right signal, ain't it? He can't wallow in self-pity for the rest of his life - if nobody did, well, then he'd implode. Simple as that. _The1TRUEST3heir2of7SLYTHERIN_, thanks for the reminder, I'll change it when I can - in order to comply to FFN's guideline rules, I recently had to remove some lyrics from two chaps, so I might do it anytime soon. _Wolfzmasterz_, that is still left undecided. But for plot suggestions, I usually don't listen to those...so...

Okay, next chapter's preview: predictions, an oracle, a new name, new characters and interrogations. Quite laconic, am I?

Ah - always forgetting that last message. Read and review! Feedback needed to see whether there are any loopholes or mistakes made. OOCness messages accepted but usually overlooked. Harry's changed a lot because of the vampire thing (and, anyway, this series is now AU because of that...travesty called 'HBP') - shoot back to chap. six if you want to get a hint. Just after the shower thing. Once again, all my apologies for the delay but for the past few days I've been working like a slave on chaps 09 and 10. Adding bits here and there and trying to keep the work consistent. The spark has been rekindled. Rejoice. Or not. My writing style might change a bit, I don't know...I'll see...

**Until next post,**

**ABI2301**


	9. Chapter 09: The Oracle

**Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse**

**Written by abi2301**

**Chapter 09**

**v.01: 04/25/2005**

**Official disclaimer:**

The Harry Potter movies and novel series are the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Inc. and Scholastic Books, Inc. All rights are reserved. 'Harry Potter: A Vampire's Curse' is a purely fictional series based upon the original HP and written for entertainment purpose only. No money is made out of it and no law infringement was intended in its writing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: due to problems with my computer, this is a draft of the very overdue chapter nine. However, as I'm going to be out for a few days and some of my friends have been buggering me to get this update, there might be misspellings here and there. Please bear with me till I finally get the time to fix every shortcoming I might find afterwards; my computer's crashed countless times due to hardware failures and getting this done was no sinecure at all.

* * *

**Chapter 09: The Oracle**

* * *

He awoke slowly from his forced sleep, his temple burning as if smoldering embers had been pressed to that part of his body. His mind was still reeling from the shock and he felt the need to vomit. Wearily, he moaned and rolled on his side, his hands moving around to get his bearings. He opened one eye and his bleary gaze fell on two dark boots, not even one meter away from his nose. Squinting to recover his perfect vision, he propped himself on his elbows, just as a sneer came from above.

"Feeling better after a nap, now?"

Asmodeus.

Asmo-fucking-deus.

Apart from Snape, there weren't two other individuals who could muster so much contempt and coldness in their voice. Two was enough. Three would be genocide.

In a raspy voice, Harry tried to retort, "what the hell-"

"You snapped, Potter. I guess your excessive agitation was caused by the hormones still abundant in your bloodstream - normally that drawback should fade away in a month or two and you shouldn't be experiencing that problem now - but I know that most freshly Turned vampires, when they are subjected to intense emotions even two months after their metamorphosis, sometimes lose control or behave excessively because of the surge of chemicals in their body. Few ever manage to completely rein in their feelings, from what I witnessed all those years. Couple that fact to an understandably unhealthy amount of stress, and I surmise you'll have something akin to a breakdown or fit of rage. Yet I guess from your anxiety that I had obviously hit a nerve - I assume you aren't very comfortable with that subject, are you?" he asked, fingering his stubble-covered chin pensively. This time his voice held no hostility. A hint of curiosity, perhaps, but he seemed to be more interested with what had just happened than riling his apprentice up. Harry grunted resentfully and got himself off the floor, his limbs aching with every movement. Asmodeus, however, made no move to help his apprentice, preferring to gaze at him calmly, as if analyzing an interesting specimen.

"My scar," Harry growled, his blood pounding in his eardrums, "is one of the things that remind me everyday why I failed to save my godfather and why I was nearly drawn to madness the previous year."

He coughed his feelings out, trying to get the panic still careening in his heart away, far from him and his memories.

"So you _do_ have a connection with the Dark Lord," concluded the vampire with a satisfied smile, nonplussed by his student's dejected tone. Harry was now frantically looking forward to deal his master a heartfelt uppercut. "In a way it is a blessing as it provides you with peeks into your nemesis' plans although, as you have undoubtedly discovered it, the connection works in two ways. The strongest is the one who controls the filters of the 'data transmission', were I to use modern terms." He conjured a chair and dropped in it, crossing his legs and steeping his hands under his chin. His eyes bore into Harry's, as if gauging his reaction. Harry returned the look, albeit more forcefully. After a second, he felt an odd tinge at the corners of his mind, like the feel of a wet cloth applied to his skin. Instinctively, Harry used his Occlumency skills to drive the intruder out of his head.

When he no longer sensed the mental probe in his thoughts, his eyes snapped open, once again burning crimson, in rage. "Why you-"

"Quite impressive for a beginner but your skills are comparable to a blunt axe instead of the sharpened sword I would like your mind to be," Asmodeus smirked. "You successfully threw me out of your mind, although your reaction time could have been shorter," he continued calmly.

"What was the point in that-" Harry interrupted heatedly, but he never had the chance to finish his question as Asmodeus conjured a reddish flask with a flick of his wand and handed the item to his apprentice.

"What's that?"

"It's a calming draught, Potter. I won't answer any of your questions until you take at least two glassfuls of it," Asmodeus adamantly directed. Harry glared at the Nightslasher and popped the lid out before bringing the flask to his lips. The sour taste of the potion assaulted his tongue, causing his face to collapse in a disgusted grimace. It was as awful as Snape's creations. He wondered how could Remus do fine with the Wolfbane Potion every month, knowing it had a foul flavor too. With a defiant look, Harry turned to his master, resolute to have his answers given. Asmodeus tilted his head sideways and nodded sullenly.

"Now, why did I break into your mind? Simple but alarming in its own way - and I surmise I am to blame for not having done it before. I was just searching for one thing: the depth of the connection between Voldemort and you. You _do_ realize he could have been _spying on us_, don't you?" Harry stopped short in his upcoming tirade. "What?"

Asmodeus' grin grew wider. "Intense feelings like rage, discontent, depression or love often trigger their sharing between the two bonded individuals. That is often why linked people feel when the other is sad or is absolutely furious. Did it ever happen to you?"

"Yes," Harry blurted, his anger momentarily forgotten. He settled the flask on the divan behind him and rubbed his forehead, worn out by the discussion.

"The reason, as I explained to you for the Berserker theory, lies in the fact that the human mind is a jumble of connections between its innumerable components. The cerebral connections are a mystery that will remain unsolved before a very, very long time, for the answer to that riddle runs beyond our realm of existence. Why? Because it calls for highly complex notions like the human soul, the life force, magic and whatnot. However, we know that certain people remember specific events with greater clarity and exactitude than other ones, which are whisked away by the forgetfulness of time. Why? Because their emotional state at those particular moments were on a higher level. Those emotions open doors, Potter. Links. That is why shocks, ordeals and other feelings engrave memories better than anything else...and why they force those artificial connections open..."

"And I've been quite..."

"Emotional," Asmodeus deadpanned. "I _did_ indeed run you through the wringer more than once, Potter. I admit it, for it is a part of my Nightslasher training as well as a traditional moment of your novitiate." He scratched his jugular with a calculating look. He uncrossed his legs and leant back. "I might have forgotten your curse-scar for a while but the thought was still there; it is nonetheless quite fortunate that this place is Unplottable - only people acceding here by using one of my self-made Portkeys or who are permitted by myself to Apparate through the countless wards surrounding my property can get inside. So Voldemort couldn't have intruded for all what his efforts are worth," he chuckled darkly before smiling sinisterly. "But the trump card in the game - the one I was gambling on - was your vampire nature."

"_My_ vampire nature?"

_Where's the truckload of Aspirin when you need it?_

"Have you experienced any mental attacks from the Dark Lord, lately? Any...disturbing nightmares?" Asmodeus asked Harry briskly, shaking off the previous inquiry.

Harry leant against the wall, his legs still quite wobbly. "No...it's just a dull feeling in the back of my mind but after a moment I got used to it - I don't even feel it anymore, at times. But I have some nightmares, at night - but they just don't make any sense. It isn't even like they're linked to Voldemort or whatever."

Asmodeus stared at him with a sharp, curious look. "Oh? And what are they about?"

Harry took a deep breath and explained. "They're always about a forest - burning. I always see trunks falling in flames to the ground and all those dreams go about is nothing but that: a forest burning. Then there's a sort of scream and that's the moment I usually happen to wake up."

"Usually?"

"There are times I keep on sleeping but I don't remember what happened next," Harry admitted lamely. _And it's not like I'd want to..._

"And it's always the same dream - the same images, not one iota of change? No evolution at all?" Asmodeus pressed on.

"No. Why?" Harry shot back, feeling lost with the plethora of questions and the infuriating rarefaction of answers.

Asmodeus sent him a peeved look and walked towards the door, keeping an eye on the clock above the doorway. "Dreams can be anything - reminiscences of bad moments of your life, fantasies from a tortured mind, pointless travels of your imagination or...premonitions. The latter are very rare and can sometimes be taken as bad omens. I take it you have learnt at Hogwarts what a _doppelganger _truly is?"

"Yeah, a spectral apparition, a double of yourself that shows up in front of you to warn you of your coming death. Usually the one whom the _doppelganger_ appeared to dies in the next forty-eight hours. It's a human version of the Grim."

"A sort of ghost, indeed," concurred the Nightslasher with a shake of his head. "Some say it is a demon, like the famous dog of the Baskervilles, from that Conan Doyle novel. But they are messages from the future...twists of fate...sometimes meant to ensure that the path of destiny is indeed followed and not trifled with...self-realizing prophecies, if you want. The message you receive, telling you what happens in the future incites you to make sure that it does turn out that way. And the prediction indeed becomes reality BECAUSE you took into your hands the task of fulfilling it."

"So you think I'm given a prediction?" _Good,_ he thought glumly. _Another wicked prophecy to shove under my arse._

"Maybe," mused the vampire, stroking his ponytail. "Or it's just foreboding or a hint of what is to come. A _sneak peek_, to use popular terms."

Harry didn't look any more comforted by that; in fact, he was less than thrilled to have another message from the future on his hands. Yet he attacked the problem from another angle. "Could it be Voldemort's doing, after all? He already tried it on me last year..." he choked. "...And he succeeded only too well in making me believe false visions."

Asmodeus stopped short in his stride and spun back to look at him in the eye. "Did he? Interesting - so he has learnt to control the link," he muttered sullenly, running a finger on his lips. "So he could have had the leisure to strengthen the bond by adding a fraction of his mind to yours..."

"He _what_?" Harry shouted.

Asmodeus didn't bother to repeat - instead, he went to the closest divan in his vicinity and sat in it, allowing himself to recline in the plush piece of furniture. "How do those attacks from him manifest themselves? Have you experienced those exchanges of feelings?" he questioned briskly. Harry, irritated by the lack of answers, snapped back.

"Headaches, mostly. Nightmares at night or Legilimency attacks; it depends on his mood."

Asmodeus' eyes flickered briefly. "Ah, yes. Predictable. Headaches, you said? Have you felt them lately? Were they the same as before?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Now that you remind me, no and no. What are you getting at?"

Asmodeus smirked, fingering his wand in a satisfied manner. "Bonds are usually made between beings of the same species, Potter. Because both bonded are of the same denominator and therefore are like clips that can latch onto each other. However..."

"I became a vampire," Harry completed, his anger ebbing away with the realization. The other vampire's nostrils flared in grim enthusiasm. "Exactly! As I explained during our first meeting with your guardian, all human beings, even the non-magical folk, have a magical signature. An aura, if you want. An imprint of yourself. The image, the essence of your soul. An ethereal identity card. By becoming a vampire or a werewolf, that signature changes drastically into something completely new and the main features that allow other beings to recognize you as a human being are distorted into a new set of information or are replaced by something utterly different. That was why the Ministry couldn't locate you; because your soul was no longer the same as before and the enchantments cast to recognize it by its extremely specific readings couldn't locate their target anymore. Your soul's external layout, which permitted the spells to lock on you, looked like that of someone else."

"And it should work for the mind; is that what you're hinting at?" Harry guessed wearily.

"Well, Muggles say that the number of gray cells doesn't change between birth and death apart from the occasional loss due to shocks and commotions but I was obviously wrong," his interlocutor sneered. "You caught on it quickly - most satisfactory. Certain bonds are chiseled into the mind, but most specifically the _soul._ Which means that the common denominator between you and Voldemort are no longer the same. You can no longer feel him and, in turn, _he _can no longer feel _you_."

"A bit like radios changing frequencies," Harry commented.

"It's the same principle," agreed the Nightslasher, tucking his hands under his chin. Harry sighed deeply, feeling an profound sense of relief in his master's explanations. At long last he was no longer linked to the man he despised - no, hated - the most on this planet. After a year long of mental torture and subliminal deception, it was probably one of the best news he had received so far. The only downside to the revelation was that he could no longer use the connection as an early warning sensor. After all, it was the mind-link that had enabled him to witness the attack on mister Weasley and saved his life. He was roused from his fevered thoughts by the cold, sharp voice of his master.

"Enough dawdling - and back to the Incineritus Curse, Potter. The curse consists in a stream of fire released by the wand's tip, much like a flamethrower would behave. It isn't your mere ignition spell, which sets fire to object. Those, Potter, cause the target's surface to overheat and catch fire. Even if the material is rock or something uninflammable. However, for fluids like water, the ignition spell will cause the target - water, for instance - to merely evaporate. For the Incineritus, it's different, as fire is directly conjured." He took his wand out, and fingered the carved tip before twirling the tip between his long fingers. At certain moments, Harry could compare the Nightslasher to a maestro with the way he would wave his wand around, as if leading an invisible orchestra.

"The incantation is _Incinero_, and the wand movement is a swish and a sharp jab towards the target. It's just when you jab that you say '_Incinero_' - otherwise you will easily suffer from a misfire and its consequences," he said, smiling sadistically. "Usually it involves the wand taking fire and turning the wand-hand into smoldering ashes."

"Rather cheering," Harry commented dryly, wondering why the other vampire wouldn't still forego his sadistic shenanigans.

"Making mistakes and fixing them is one of the best ways to learn, Potter," the vampire snapped, tugging his ponytail. "How do you think toddlers learn that fire or a working stove is not something to be too close to? Because they _burn_ themselves, Potter," he growled. "The lesson is sent through his nerves in the shape of unadulterated, surprised pain and engraved in the owner's brains for decades to come! They will learn that the action they made a few milliseconds ago was a bad mistake and that they're paying the price of knowledge. With each experiment, with each attempt to know your environment better comes another ounce of experience. And pain is one of the best teachers, however bitter and harsh. The lesson is instantly learnt and leaves no place for contradictions. Even _fear_, Potter, is as good an instructor as _pain_. There is a saying telling us that 'fear is nothing but the beginning of wisdom'. The child lost in a dark forest would then realize that it would have been better for him to stay home and not move from there. And he'll take the lesson to heart...because he'll have played, danced with Death, even from afar."

"I didn't think about that in the Forbidden Forest," Harry retorted glumly.

"Come again?" Asmodeus blinked.

"I went a couple of time unaccompanied in the Forbidden Forest around Hogwarts and I assure you that coming back wasn't my first thought," he elaborated, undeterred by the vampire's snappish attitude. He had to stand up for himself and not become the wincing coward the previous apprentice had become. God knew that selling pizzas with pepperonis wouldn't be an efficient weapon in the least against Voldemort. Unless, of course, he planned to choke his nemesis to death with mozzarella - but even then he wasn't sure about Voldemort's tastes to begin with.

"I see," Asmodeus grumbled, stroking his chin. "But then again I can hardly consider you as someone abiding by the rules. Unnatural would be the first term coming to mind."

"Gee. Thanks for the compliment," Harry scoffed. After all, coming from the former Auror, he could only take it as a compliment. The day Asmodeus would get on his knees and praise his qualities would be doomsday. And the second where Voldemort would disguise himself as a nun and scream around 'I'm the pumpkin queen!'

"Don't thank me, Potter," snidely returned his master. "It's only natural."

"That's what I thought."

"At least you know what to expect," Asmodeus shot back. "And not be caught off-guard!"

"That was perfectly foreseeable, you know?"

"I can't say I went to great lengths to make myself unpredictable. I save that part for duels."

"I know," Harry said, rolling his eyes. _As if he'd ever change...it's as unlikely as Voldemort doing a lap dance in front of Rita Skeeter._

"I trust you do," sneered the Nightslasher with a smug expression. He straightened his collar and glanced at the window with narrowed eyes. "However, being unpredictable does have its flaws, especially when it comes to giving your friends a good impression of which mood you truly are in currently or give them wrong ideas about your thoughts or allegiances. But it does serve as a mask at times to deceive those you might alienate from yourself...or make enemies."

Harry suddenly had a flashback about Luna Lovegood's queerness but refrained from pointing out that particular case to his master. "Are you...suggesting me to become...unpredictable? Aside from our usual sparring?" Harry asked cautiously, clearly uneasy with the concept.

The Nightslasher smoothened his breast pocket with a calloused hand and shot him a glare that was obviously filled to the brim with contempt. "Maybe not to that extent - as I told you, there are ups and downs to that type of behavior and you can easily make a wrong decision - even some that you can't mend no matter how hard you try to do spin control. What I'm merely asking you to consider is to create a _mask_," he declared, emphasizing his last word. Harry's eyes widened.

As thoughts raced in his head, he was unceremoniously called back to reality by the cold, satisfied voice of his master. "Yes, I'm indeed aware of your initiative to come back to the wizarding world, undercover."

Harry's mouth snapped open as a look of revulsion and disbelief ran through his forest green eyes. Gripping his wand tightly in his hand, he took a step back, stopping brutally as his back met a low table behind him. "How did you-"

"You do realize that each time I beat you, your concentration wavers?" Asmodeus interrupted with a smirk.

Harry's face was before long drained of its blood.

_What the fuck-_

"I often use that trick to catch a glimpse of my opponent's plans or tactics, as the Occlumency walls suffer from the blow I indirectly inflict. I consider it to be fair game since a battle is not all about fair play but a game that needs to see its winner declared as soon as possible."

Still reeling from the bombshell Asmodeus had brazenly dropped on him, Harry managed not to choke at his interlocutor's wording. In the meantime, his irritation meter didn't cease its ascending course towards breaking point. "_Game_?" he sputtered indignantly.

_Is this guy thinking that the wizarding world's world is a giant Cluedo?_

Asmodeus chuckled darkly, caressing his ponytail. "I'm talking about a game in its most primordial meaning, Potter. A competition where two or more camps try to implement their ideas or superiority in the other's side. A challenge meant to prove who's the strongest between the contestants or who's the fastest, depending on what the game is all about. War, if you want, is one major game. Entertainment is a concept that comes after...or not, depending on the game's purpose."

Harry then proceeded to calm himself a little, slightly appeased by the Asmodeus-ish explanation. He could swear that that man had a side definition for every term in the world or a certain vision that would itself become the meaning of the subject at hand...at times, it was really hard not to bristle with all the sous-entendres the vampire provided or the twisted notions he sometimes offered to those he spoke to - in this case, to Harry only, to the aforementioned individual's annoyance. It was a blessing in its own way that vampire hormones had given him the wherewithal to understand a bit of Asmodeus' ideas but it was hard to keep the pace with the sullen-looking, former Auror.

"Back on topic, Potter," resumed Asmodeus. "Besides the fact that your mind was unprotected when I beat you during our duels - which, I suppose, couldn't be helped since you are a hatchling, especially in the eyes of a vampire, going back to the wizarding world as a nameless, hidden individual was the only option left for you lest you expose yourself to risks and questions, I am sure, you wouldn't dare try to take and receive. You would not only have to explain why the Ministry's documents do not locate you anymore but also disclose the location where you had been staying put all that time, as well as what you were doing and who had you met. I am sure you understand I can do much better with my solitude intact," he sneered. "And the same goes for Priscilla and her sister," he hissed warningly. "They already had enough trouble in the past, so it is in your best interests not to bring the wizards' attention on them."

_Trouble in the past?_

"I assume you want to make a rather discreet return to your erstwhile peers, don't you?" he questioned, rubbing his finger on his lip thoughtfully. "That won't be easy - even a toddler can see that."

_Tell me something I don't know, then._

"Since the wizarding world will be back on wartime status and the resistance is reportedly reorganizing itself to respond effectively against the Dark Lord's followers, I'll expect the Ministry to be on its guard as well as extremely suspicious of everyone on the forefront of the conflict - that is, if you were to make your presence known and affirm yourself as a contender in the war. They'll want to know where you stand and what stance you'll be adopting."

"Perfectly foreseeable," Harry snapped, trying pitifully to give the Nightslasher a piece of his own medicine. Without much success, to say the least.

Asmodeus shrugged, unimpressed with the outburst. "But that is nothing technically speaking - the aftermath will be more interesting and harder to deal with."

"Meaning?" Harry questioned, losing the pace with his master.

Asmodeus' smirk returned full force, now that he was back in control. "The cinch, Potter, will be trying to remain a _rogue unit_. Becoming one is no hustle at all. Keeping things that way is much harder. The Ministry will want to have all assets in their hands - a rogue wolf on the lookout is prone to wage war his own way and therefore have divergences with the wizarding government. That means, not keeping secret things that the Ministry would like to, like the incompetence of certain offices, the inexperience and inadaptability of the newer Auror squadrons, etc. And a mouth that isn't bridled by the Minister of Magic is a threat in itself. Why do you think that Hitler and Stalin massacred a few generals even in wartime? Because they were a problem with the way those leaders ruled their country."

"And I will be a loose cannon," Harry completed. "A threat."

"Exactly," Asmodeus approved, his smirk widening aggravatingly. "Besides, you don't belong to the government - and only vigilantes and Hit Wizards approved by the Ministry itself have the right to kill - and not only in self-defense. And those have therefore a leash on their neck and a gag binding their lips together. If you don't cooperate, you'll be considered as a terrorist. If kill without a specific license from higher instances, you will be officially branded a criminal or a dissident fomenting a coup to topple the Ministry and seize power. And what do officials do with terrorists or first grade criminals?" he questioned rather jovially - a terrifying sight for Harry.

"They get kissed."

"Kissed?" Asmodeus started.

"Kissed as in 'kissed by Dementors'," Harry corrected, chuckling weakly at his unsettling the ever-composed vampire.

"Ah - you scared me for a moment, Potter," Asmodeus said, eyeing his charge with fake caution. "Anyway, either you act as a guerrilla fighter and remain undercover the whole time or you choose to resurface but will be forced to acknowledge your identity and nature for what they are. And...face the consequences."

"Out of question," Harry added forcefully. "I ran away from the wizarding world for a reason and I won't go back to be rewarded with what I sought to avoid."

"Exactly - so you'll have to lay low and only strike when the situation calls for it, when the wizarding world is attacked or when you deem a preemptive strike necessary. The other quandary at hand will be _information_ - or should I say, _intelligence_ - knowing where and when to strike is crucial and depends on the amount, accuracy and nature of the information gathered on the way - and it often implies having sources within the wizarding world. I doubt calling on some former classmates of yours will be enough to provide you with the means to accurately locate the areas to 'visit' as well as garner some tips on that weakling Voldemort's strength - I mean, manpower. You'll have to get your hands dirty and use questionable informants, not idiotic simpletons who can only blurt hearsays and other wild rumors with the conviction that they're offering crucial information. Intelligence gathering is a shady job, which is as safe as walking on a sword's edge. You have to be street smart to even consider conducting such a tedious, risky task - and you have neither sufficient background nor experience to qualify for that endeavor."

Harry bowed his head - to be truthful with himself, he reluctantly had to admit that he hadn't thought about this - now that he had severed his ties with the Order, he no longer had any reliable sources of information about the Dark Lord's whereabouts, thoughts and moves. And, the more he thought about it, the more he had to concede to his critical self that Dumbledore's organization had, after all, given him but very little information on Voldemort's projects. Only snippets or the general idea, but nothing of use. And as he kept thinking about it he always came back to the notion that he had led himself in a stalemate that had been lying in wait for him since the very start.

He had cut his leashes free but freedom had come with a price.

He was a fish out of water. Blind and powerless, tactically speaking.

So, basically, if it was unrealistic to _attack_ the Death Eaters, the only option left to his hands was to _defend_ the wizarding world each time an attack would come. Unless he forced himself to act like a spy at all moments, which was, to say the least, absolutely unthinkable. He couldn't see himself slipping in the Ministry of Magic or in the Aurors' headquarters, creeping around and squatting in some darkened corner of some high official's office and eavesdropping on ministerial gatherings. There were hundreds, if not thousands of wards and other secrecy enchantments in that accursed place and the first step he'd make in restricted areas would trip those devices off - alerting his presence to a flock of law enforcers with the Killing Curse already on their lips and their wands trained at the first intruder they'd spot.

So...

Was just responding to Death Eater attacks and trying to contain damage enough? No. It was just delaying the inevitable - and paving the way for a harsh and long battle of attrition. A war where only the side having the largest resources, the strongest determination or the most durable assets would ultimately win, albeit not without dire sacrifices. And God knew how the wizarding world, that had long festered in its own delusion of peace and prosperity, had grown brittle to such assaults. Hell, Harry thought, had he squealed Voldemort's name in the middle of Diagon Alley, he would have been rewarded with fifty or more cardiac arrests around him, as well as mass hysteria. He couldn't count on his former fellowmen, no matter how tough the current Aurors were. They came from the population and the population would prove to be a hindrance in the long term - asking for comfort and messing with the Ministry's attempts to root Voldemort out of his hidey-hole. They were completely unprepared for the arising of a Dark Lord freed from his slumber.

Peace, while it was awfully delicious to those who tasted it, was the worst of poison when confronted to the reality of this world. It undermined everything.

Comforting apathy, after all, was another form of corruption.

As for preemptive strikes? As Asmodeus stated, it depended on intelligence. Which meant - nil. Right now, that is. Therefore, if he couldn't strike at the limbs of the hideous monster he was about to fight, he needed to swipe at the head, where the brains resided. Hopefully it would cripple the rest, although reality was far more fickle than common belief led people to think it to be. And Voldemort, just now, was far better a duelist than Harry was or would hope to be in the next few years, should that amount of time be granted to him. The fight at the Fountain of the Magical Brethren had convinced Harry of that assumption. He wouldn't stand a second against his nemesis.

He needed weapons.

Magic he could gather, thanks to Asmodeus.

Morale he could keep, with Priscilla and Lizzie's cheerfulness.

Knowledge he could gain, with Hermione's help.

But as for experience, it came forth with time.

And time he didn't have any of it.

As much as he hated it to be, his only hope to get rid of the pureblood-wannabe that was Voldemort resided in a thrice-accursed prophecy, that, by the way, proved to be a double-edged sword. Not only did it reveal Voldemort's sole weakness, but it also implied that the spoken-of vulnerability was not one-sided. Fairy tales didn't exist in this world - and drawbacks to an advantage were to be expected.

The prophecy, for more than one individual, was both a blessing and a curse.

A disheartening contradiction in itself - so promising yet so dreadful.

How could he work that out? Harry asked himself. How could he circumvent the limits set around him and free himself from the Damocles' Sword hanging high above him, threatening to break and fall upon his head? He was left but with very few options and he wasn't sure he could exploit them to their fullest. Hermione would gladly provide him with information from the Order's side but she wouldn't allow him to pit himself in the battle, even for other people's sake. Not now, not here, not when she had the chance to make him improve himself. She believed, in a way, that knowledge was power - but she (as well as Harry) was also aware that braveness had its own flaws and that it often led to recklessness, which, in turn, was only one inch away from foolishness.

No, no, he told himself, there had to be something else - and the only clues he had to the assets he would require to wield in the war to finally topple Voldemort from his throne of terror and ruin were in the form of clues. _Powers the Dark Lord knows not._ He had yet to decipher that part - and...

He was suddenly stricken by a stray thought.

And he didn't know how much he would curse his decision that night - as well as congratulate himself in some distant future.

"By the way, what do you know about prophecies?" Harry asked Asmodeus.

* * *

"A prophecy, did you say?" his interlocutor questioned, fingering the stubble on his chin with his polished claws.

Harry, judging by how the Nightslasher was standing, stiff and leaning forward, saw the gears of some terrible machine turning behind those chillingly cold, calculating eyes. Obviously the vampire was suspecting something but he had yet to see his assumptions confirmed by his apprentice.

"Yeah - some seer dropped it on me slightly before my birth. In fact, even if she does seem like a fraud at first sight, she _is_ gifted with foresight - the only crimp to record is that she doesn't remember her predictions because she falls in a trance every time she predicts something," Harry explained with some difficulty, remembering how Trelawney had successfully foretold Pettigrew's outbreak and his return to service to Lord Voldemort as well as his being marked as the equal of the Dark Lord. "It still remains that everything she told us _did_ become reality," he concluded uneasily.

Asmodeus lapsed into a slightly tense silence, his eyes glazing in concentration. Finally those ice cold orbs hardened and snapped back to Harry. "I assume you have her name?"

"Trelawney. Sybill Trelawney - she's employed as Hogwarts' divination professor but she's quite a joke there, even though some girls do find some appeal in her mystical blabbering," he answered, thinking about Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. The 'middle-aged' vampire nodded silently before settling back to his perusal. "I am indeed familiar with that name - she must be the great-great-granddaughter of Cassandra Trelawney, who quite made the news in her time. Her ancestor, if they are, which I highly doubt it to be a false assumption, related in any sort, predicted with a lot of accuracy a lot of deaths during her lifetime and some catastrophes that occurred in the beginning of the eighteenth century, like the Great Magically-conjured Wildfire of Diagon Alley in 1722. It is said that some genes skip several generations but, in reality they are never lost. Merely remaining dormant within their bodily cradle until a descendant worthy of fate's consideration or plain lucky finds a way to successfully 'activate' that ability within himself."

Harry acquiesced, wondering if, deep inside his body, slumbered some powers that could eventually be awakened. _He will have power the Dark Lord knows not..._came the unbidden voice of Trelawney. He was thankfully jarred from his reminiscences by a rather irked Asmodeus. "Snap out of it, Potter. Don't go daydreaming on me," he hissed, his eyes flashing. "As I was saying, predictions can be either countered or changed depending on how destiny fluctuates. Not all prophecies come out respected point by point. There are...variables, for lack of a better term."

"Like...becoming a different creature?" Harry asked tentatively, a formerly forlorn hope flaring inside of his soul. The pensive nod he received from his mentor increased the feeling tenfold. "Yes...which brings me to a rather crucial question - have you paid a visit to the Oracle?" he questioned, his ever-present scowl deepening.

"The Oracle?" His repeating the world with a quizzed expression didn't seem to appease the older vampire as he grumbled with annoyance.

"I gather you haven't otherwise you wouldn't have reiterated that word," he snapped. "Well, gather your coat and follow me," he instructed, pointing at the garment dropped in a nearby divan. Harry snatched the clothing and put it on, feeling like they were indeed going outside. A few minutes later, Asmodeus and Harry found themselves standing in the front courtyard of the mansion, rubbing their hands together to fight the biting frost. "Blasted temperature - always dropping even at summer," Asmodeus grumbled before fishing in his robes' pocket. "Take this," he ordered, handing his apprentice a small book about London's underground. Harry guessed it to be a Portkey, a theory proven correct when Asmodeus took out his wand and tapped the item, muttering a sullen, _"salvation"_.

Once again, Harry found himself spiraling through the Floo Network, whirling inside an intangible world awash with iridescent tones. After a few minutes of wandering in an imaginary universe, his feet slammed onto solid ground. He reached out with his hand and found a wall, upon which he leant for a couple of seconds, trying to quell the growing dizziness within him. _Floo traveling doesn't agree with me - that's a given. And after being stunned and nearly being driven mad by an already insane vampire..._ Looking up his eyes fell on Asmodeus, who was now looking out for eventual threats or suspicious signs.

"Where are we?"

Asmodeus sniffed in response. "Thomaston Ridge - an ancient area once rich with coal but now empty of that mineral since the British government sent thousands of men to dig their way through the entrails of Mother Earth. Once upon a time there were a lot of barracks here - the living quarters for poor, eternally exhausted miners whose numbers kept on growing on an explosive scale during the Industrial Revolution - all forsaking their farms to get a job in those reportedly heavenly factories, only to find many a hardship, poor sanitary conditions and strings of accidents on their workplaces. When the underground supplies waned there were no more reasons for the workers to dwell here and they were redirected to another industrial basin. In the meantime, the high population concentration provided the local vampire community with proficient hunting grounds. Some of our kind even started to call this place hallowed grounds until its residents moved out. But vampires remained, since they got...kind of attached to the area. We have committed it to our memories as a sanctuary, where some of the Elders now dwell. Think of it as a pricey residential area for the VVIPs."

"VVIP?"

"Vampiric Very Important Person."

"You're having issues, you know," Harry sighed, taking a long look at his surroundings and discovering that he was in fact, standing in a darkened alley whose walls were made of red, moss-covered bricks that reeked of urine and decay. The ground was littered with various pieces of trash and muddy soil.

"Look who's talking!" Asmodeus snapped, before striding towards the back of the small passageway and coming to face a broken statue of a cherub. Harry stood there, puzzled by the incongruous presence of the work of art in a place were only ruin and abandonment reigned. "What is..." he tried to ask but Asmodeus beat him to it by pressing two fingers onto the bronze eyes of sculpture. Harry jumped aside as he heard a rumble on his right and witnessed a whole block of stone sliding apart to reveal a richly decorated Gothic archway, lit by two blazing torches. The device reminded him so much of Diagon Alley that he forgot to follow a rather brisk Asmodeus who had to recall him to the living world with annoyance.

Harry entered the archway and into the doorway, which seemed to lead downwards, into a large basement of sorts. This time the construction seemed to be better kept, a sure sign that it wasn't a derelict building left to crumble under its own weight through dozens of decennia. Their steps echoed loudly as they walked forward, sinking deeper into the confines of earth. "Where are we?" he inquired uneasily, not relishing the thought of heading somewhere unknown to him. Asmodeus growled under his breath and answered.

"We're in the abode of the Oracle."

"You still didn't tell me who she was," Harry interjected, miffed at the lack of information he was given. Asmodeus seemed ready to explode at that but did nothing; a strange atmosphere lingered in the air, one of hieratic dimensions, sacred almost - one that didn't call for blasphemies and uncouth words. "The word is self-explanatory, Potter. She's a Seer but one of rather impressive experience since she is nearly a millennia old."

"A millennia?" Harry gaped. "Are there still vampires from _that _time still alive?"

"Why wouldn't there be?" his master grumbled. "Vampires are experts at dissimulation and self-protection. We have lived in tight communities secluded from the outer world. Our residences were shelters. Havens. So provided we are not disturbed in any respect by any war or unwanted attention from Muggles and Wizards, why can't we survive through centuries till the end of times?" he questioned, his tone putting an end to the discussion.

"And why are we here tonight? Are we going to ask her about the prophecy?" Harry pressed on. Asmodeus shook his head.

"No. We are going to ask her for a new one," the vampire deadpanned as they arrived in front of two large, steel doors. Upon both of them stood a blazon of a crimson cup, embossed with a silver, crescent moon and beneath the recipient, two crossed swords in gold.

"WHAT?" Harry shouted.

"Silence!" Asmodeus hissed. "We're in the home of the Oracle and no disturbance will be tolerated by her assistants! If you so much as speak too loud without the leave of the Oracle herself, you'll be branded as a blasphemer and thrown outside without any form of ceremony! This place, Potter, is considered as sacred. Think of it as the Vatican of the Vampiric cult or whatever name your mind will manage to invent!"

Harry nodded and Asmodeus pushed the doors open, before ushering a silent teenager into a large chamber that looked much like the inside of a 17th century cathedral with its columns and intricate decoration laden with gold and silver. Glancing around, Harry spotted at least a dozen vampires, all speaking in hushed tones with an almost reverent look that told much about the importance of the place. "Come with me, Potter," Asmodeus hissed so as to not be overheard. "Take care not to give your true identity in these places - the Oracle doesn't have any allegiance towards the Council and will not divulge your name but I cannot guarantee an identical behavior for the other occupants of this building."

"And if someone asks my name?" Harry returned, feeling his throat clogged with worry.

"Try to think about a pseudonym - but don't try names either too banal or too strange to our ears otherwise you'll spark their interest and I'm sure we could do better without any unwanted attention right now," was the frosty answer. Which nearly compelled Harry to grab his master by the neck and strangle him on the spot, like some goose being readied for dinner.

Harry nevertheless ignored that rather enticing image and chose to grumble under his breath, schooling his countenance into the blank one he had mastered over the past days. His steps became less clumsy and unsure and after a couple of seconds, his gait was that of a man already acquainted with the surroundings - as if he had already been here a dozen times before - a detail that didn't go unnoticed to Asmodeus' eyes, who gave him a thin smile in return. It was at that moment that a calm voice made them stop.

"It's been a long time since we saw of you here, Latifas."

Asmodeus turned around to face a long-haired vampire who looked like he had taken a bath consisting of white paint and flour. He obviously was an albinos but he went as far as to emphasize his illness by wearing immaculate, almost shiny clothes that resembled a lot that of wizards', only that they were much more ample and more simple in their design. "Skinnard. I didn't know you still lingered in such a hallowed area," Asmodeus responded, his tone as warm as an Arctic wind. The way his eyes narrowed at the sight of the long-faced albino was a clear sign of an long-lasting feud between the two of them. "Circumstances sometimes force me to ask for the Oracle's advice - her word is holy, after all - and..." his blue, piercing eyes turned to bore into Harry's, who had a hard time trying not to shiver under the chilling stare. "...I see you didn't come unaccompanied. A new...Apprentice, I gather?"

"I do not remember indulging myself in accompanying other people lest they be under my tutelage or actually from the _old_ crowd," Asmodeus answered as calmly as he could, stressing the adjective pointedly. The wide smile the Nightslasher got in return obviously put his nerves to the limit. "Indeed, and I suppose you are doing fine on your apprenticeship course, mister...?" the vampire asked, with a sweet voice that reminded the young wizard of a male version of Umbridge - therefore a good reason to be weary of his interlocutor, if not miffed. "Higgins. Andrew Higgins. And, yes, I'm very satisfied with the lessons I'm getting, thank you for your solicitude," he said very carefully, trying not to sound too offensive. From the corner of his eye he noticed that they were now stared at by most of the bystanders and apparently heavily discussed in hushed tones - something his master had wished to avoid but to no avail.

Asmodeus had, apparently, far less self-control than he usually let on, as he grabbed Harry's shoulder and with a firm hand, began to lead him away. "I need to see the Oracle right now, Skinnard, and very little time is left to spare. May the moon bestow you with good blood," he interrupted with a final tone, before nearly dragging his student away, under the amused gaze of the vampire entirely bedecked in white. They could both still feel a dozen pair of eyes, if not more, following them as they delved deeper into the halls of the construction. "Bloody-"

"I assume I am not to trust him overmuch?" Harry asked offhandedly. Asmodeus' shot him a glare that told more than could ever be voiced. "Reuben Skinnard is one of those upstart vampires who deem that since they were sired by Ancients that have taken centuries to build their power, that they are entitled to do whatever they want and be given more leeway by the Council than reasonably," the former Auror explained, his voice trembling with rage. "I don't know how many times I had to report to the Council about his little escapades in the non-magical world for a little snack - the problem was that his father held, that is, until a few years ago, a high position among the Council before he died of leukemia. Until old Itzak Skinnard finally departed, Reuben was completely untouchable - remember that offences here, as well as insults, do not stop at one individual only. If you insult someone, you then most likely insult the whole family or clan. It's a downscaled version of the mafia - loyalties of the group's members pass from a previous leader to his son and so on, so I suggest you stay away from him - you don't have protectors at the moment so even in the vampire community you're basically defenseless, politically speaking - and that's all that matters right now," he clarified in hushed tones, as they made their way under a baroque looking ceiling covered with esoteric symbols of the moon and the stars. Most of them were runes but there were a score of pictograms and other images he couldn't recognize.

"Sounds like a Malfoy to me," Harry snickered. Asmodeus scowled. "That family still exists?" He harrumphed then regained his composure. "Not surprising - mistakes always reproduce themselves over time. Predictable. Ever since old Fergus Malfoy became a Slytherin that bloodline has turned into a crowd of scum," he groused. "I thought dear old Lucius wouldn't either have the balls or sufficient knowledge to father a son but I assume it wasn't the case and he managed to get what he wanted?" he sneered. For once, there was no contempt directed at him, which was a pleasant surprise.

"Well," Harry said in a mock-pensive way, "there's that dunce at school...pale white skin, bleached hair, pointed noise, haughty expression, blue eyes, and a vocabulary that limits itself to synonyms of the word 'purity' and also, 'mudblood'. What does that tell you?" he offered, waving his hand dismissively.

"Damnation," Asmodeus cussed, just as they walked under a high archway made of thousands of carved bats clinging to each other and glaring at the spectator underneath. Harry couldn't help but notice how the cult of the night and its many attributes - fauna and symbolism - were glorified in the surroundings. _Figures_, he thought, _otherwise why would they call themselves the people of the dark?_

He snickered at one particularly ugly chiropteran, whose long, sallow face reminded him strongly of an equally unpleasant Potions Master. The chilling look sent his way by another Snape wannabe, however, was what made his vocal chords freeze into place and observe a nearly religious silence.

The room Harry entered in was a surprising mix of rich decorum and stern architecture, whose bluntness and simplicity reminded him of the Gothic era - yet the furniture in the entrance as well as the fine carvings adorning the walls clashed strongly with the austere surroundings yet flowed together in their own fashion. Marble and dark, finely wrought metal wove in intricate patterns, with sculptures jutting here and there from the rare alcoves and pieces of furniture set in the corners. Gargoyles and odd assorted items that reminded him of some occult cult littered the area, although they didn't radiate a sense of disorder. However, what struck Harry more was not the appearance of the chamber but well what resided in its center. Surrounded by four lamps that smelt of incense and whose dim light cast eerie shadows on the walls and high ceiling, a throne was set on a prominent dais. There sat a woman entirely bedecked in black and wearing veils around, like a cloak that reached to the floor like overlapping waves of darkness. On her sides, two other female vampires, judging from their bodies, stood silently, gazing at the arrivals with shady eyes.

Asmodeus strode over to the dais before stopping five meters in front of the throne and bowing deeply in obvious reverence. Harry repeated his master's gestures, understanding that here came the critical part of tonight's visit. The woman reclining in the refined seat in front of them was the Oracle.

"We have come to you for your Word, O Oracle," the Nightslasher intoned, his head still bowed and his eyes not meeting the seer's. Harry didn't dare look up either, although, when their interlocutor spoke up, he could hear the smile through her words. "It has been two centuries since I first saw you, Latifas. I gather the years have treated you well, apart from...those harsh moments?"

To his utmost astonishment, Harry could hear Asmodeus nervously gulping. "Aye," he answered, seemingly unwilling to deepen the matter.

"I see," the Oracle concluded. "The one next to you is the one who needs my Counsel and my Word."

"Yes, he is."

The Oracle smiled then turned her gaze to the young wizard.

"Then look at me, Childe," she addressed him.

Harry, mustering all his strength so that he wouldn't wilt in front of the being in front of him, lifted his head to look at her. His eyes slightly widened at her sight. It was as if the darkness surrounding her had receded and her veils suddenly disappeared, leaving him with the sight of a woman in her early thirties, with long, dark haired that flowed behind her back and brilliant, almost blinding blue eyes. Her face was smooth and still remained young yet he could feel the power and wisdom of eons exuding by her pale, almost alabaster white skin - a strange mix that sent chills through his very bones. As her eyes raked over his thin frame, Harry felt like being probed by invisible hands, delving through his body and into his very core, stripping him from the sense of anonymity he had gathered around him for this very night. After a dozen seconds, he felt relief rushing through him as the sensation dulled than faded to naught. A smile appeared on the Oracle's face. She reached to her right and grabbed a calyx, which she brought to her lips to feed on the beverage inside - most likely fresh blood, from what Harry's nostrils told him. He could feel fear, foreboding and nervousness crawling up his limbs as her azure eyes burn holes through his head, boring into his barely hidden scar.

"You are the one who lost his parents to a master of sorcery turning to the dark," she said simply, almost with laziness. Harry was rather a sight after that, staring open-mouthed at the long-haired woman who seemed slightly amused by his antics. "How...?"

"We are imparted with Knowledge, youngling. We just know. Don't ask questions that linger in that field for we neither have the true answer and even if we did, we would be sworn not to partake it with you," she warned. "You seek here for advice. You are lost and you don't know where your home truly is despite the fact that you sleep under a warm roof filled with happiness. You feel torn between two places, one of which holds your heart and the other your soul. Your sense of duty and your throne of desire are in conflict.

"You wish to depart from a place you do not trust anymore; you have been lied to, spurned and hurt. You have the words of Fate weighing on your shoulders and you cannot but feel that all hope is lost. You have been welcomed by the People of the Dark but you cannot determine whether to shake the proffered hand or leave it for an old, familiar one. You seek for help and support. You desire to see the Path."

"I...I do," Harry stammered, feeling that he had at least to say something so that he wouldn't look too much like a fish out of water. The Oracle smiled at him indulgently, the amusement not fading one bit from her dark eyes.

"Very well," she intoned, pushing her veils aside and revealing her face a bit more. "Let the Words of the High Ones be hearkened unto this world. Listen well, young one, for there will be no repeating of Their Words." She then grabbed the calyx a second time and murmured words that even Harry's enhanced hearing couldn't pick, before drinking the liquid.

Harry was about to ask for a clarification of her warning when it began.

The Oracle threw her head back just as her eyes rolled backwards. Froth began to form at the edges of her fanged mouth and her limbs shook with growing convulsions. The temperature in the chamber suddenly chilled and Harry could see his breath melting into mist. The drapes gathered around the woman's seat started to flap with an unseen force and the air started to shift, before finally turning into an implacable wind that surrounded the Oracle as if she were the vortex of a small storm, which began to fill with eddying darkness, as if she had mustered a giant Shadowcloak around her slender form. The two assistants stepped back, extending their arms wide and chanting under their breath, as if inciting their mistress to go further and ease her task.

Finally her head tilted forwards and her blood red eyes bore onto Harry's face like those of a mad dog focusing onto its prey. His mind was now filled of otherworldly visions filled with twin orbs of fire, that swirled around, causing him to panic. He couldn't see anything but those two organs devoid of pupils, burning with an inner power. At long last, as if she had concluded her appraisal of the young man, she opened her mouth, her voice eerily harsh - almost like that of a man.

_Twice fallen has the Soultaker been,  
He whose eyes are of forest green,  
Bears the sign of holy thunder  
And now awakens from his slumber  
By the hands of Dark Lord and vampire  
Through many a hardship long and dire  
Changed in body, lost in mind,  
Ever wondering which is his true kind  
He treads the path of Death and Life  
Burrowing deep in a world of strife  
Fighting back while never wavering  
And lashing back like a sea foundering  
Red his blades and dark his soul will grow  
Like a grim wraith swinging its ugly mow  
He shall cleave his way through his nemesis' ranks  
Like a storm that tears apart a castle's flanks  
__Two he shall choose to be at his sides  
And Two he shall mark as his brides  
To unveil the true meaning of his existence  
And discover a reason for renewed resistance  
__Two Chosen will be the bulwark of his soul in times of need  
When Death is awoken, and the world falling into greed,  
As leaders are tumbling, folks are despairing and life is waning  
As the great battle of the two sorcerers is at long last coming  
Water shall be sundered and ground shall be cleft  
Air shall be splintered, homes of life will be bereft  
Heads will roll and blood shall be spilt  
But since hope will be finally rekindled  
Like a flower that at night does never wilt  
The light by darkness never has dwindled  
The Soultaker rises anew, adorned with glory  
Heralding a war terrible, dreadful and gory  
The Light he shall lead but the Darkness he shall embrace  
And his newfound power he shall wield like a deadly mace  
Beware of my warning, people of the dark  
My words no doubt in you will find their mark  
But time grows short and countless lives are uselessly spent  
On petty purposes that on begetting death are bent  
Hearken unto the Chosen One as he walks to his wars  
For his Destiny is now written in the brightest stars  
High in Heavens he shall ultimately dwell  
When the fire of war fate will finally quell  
He has at long last arrived and now in shadows linger  
The last, mighty blood-warrior of old - the Soultaker._

As the last word resonated through the chamber, a hush fell and the commotion died as suddenly as it had appeared. The veils the three women wore stopping flapping and dully fell back, as if nothing had ever disturbed their state. Harry's eyes were still on the Oracle, transfixed by the sight he had just witnessed. For all it was worth, it was indeed much scarier and impressive than Trelawney's involuntary performances. He had never seen a Seer give a prediction on her own, as if making a simple call to the deities above and getting the answer as readily as one would give another a phone call. When the Oracle's head rolled back forward numbly, Harry was ready to bolt out of the room. He had seen and learnt too many things that night - and he knew that if anything else would befall him, it would be for the worst.

A low rasp ripped him from his daze, causing his eyes to return to the Oracle's shivering frame. The woman gurgled loudly, tensed then collapsed, her chest heaving. Her assistants suddenly seemed unnerved by the display. Asmodeus' sharp hiss didn't bring any comfort to the new turn of events. The vampires slowly strode forwards, as if shy to enquire about their mistress' health - although Harry could pick up the stench of fear in the release of pheromones flooding the chamber. The Oracle shivered then drew herself up, her eyes hooded and her breath pattern still as erratic.

"So They have said, and so it is decreed," she intoned, weakly gesturing at her servants to withdraw. Her underlings seemed hesitant to do so but complied nonetheless. "I trust you have heard Their word?" she asked, her pupils hardening at the frozen wizard. Somehow Harry felt as if swimming in the hazy currents of a dream - tinted with the undertones of bitter reminiscences. The Oracle had behaved quite like Trelawney had, her whole being seized by an unearthly presence - one that could put Voldemort's personality to shame in terms of harshness. And prophecies didn't go well along with the Boy-Who-Lived, judging by what happened each time a prophecy about him had been pronounced.

A sharp jab in his back brought him back to consciousness and the first thing his frazzled mind caught was the glowing eyes of the Oracle, boring into his as if scouring his very soul. Slapping himself mentally, Harry managed to stutter a, "I...I did, mi - err, milady..."

"You will address me as the Oracle, Childe. As you are still a youngling I will disregard that mistake; nevertheless, pay attention not to make that same mistake in the future...when we'll meet again," she interrupted, frowning. Harry gulped. "When we will meet again, mi - oh, hem, Oracle?"

The woman gathered her shawls around herself twirled on her long locks between her fingers, bestowing him with a cryptic smile. "We _will_ meet again, Childe. We _always_ do, especially when you have eternity in front of you."

_If I'm entitled to taste it_, Harry replied mentally, remembering his predicament with the Dark Lord.

"I - I see," he stuttered, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the suddenly chilling premises. The night was again biting into his flesh - something he had not felt ever since he was Turned. "Nevertheless, you should do well to commit Their word to your mind, Childe - in dreary or joyous times they might be of great assistance to you. And when Fate will come at your doorstep on the verge of an important decision or at the prologue of a critical event, you will know what to do."

_Self-fulfilling prophecies_, Harry commented silently, his mind still elsewhere. He was struggling with the urge to bolt out of the room and cause a major incident within the Oracle's abode. However, the perspective of being barbecued alive by an incensed Asmodeus because of such an impair was not delighting in the slightest. He bowed his head, concurring with her words.

"Very well, Childe. This is where we part - and remember, heed Their words as they are hints to your direction. Your path is still yet to be decided. Everything can happen in the meantime but the end result will be the same, as devised by instances of higher standing. Fare thee well, youngling; may the Moon be benevolent in your hunts and may blood be sweet to your lips."

He stammered an awkward thanks at the blank-faced Oracle, barely cognizant of the fact that Asmodeus was all but dragging him out of his position and to the outside. As he walked out, forcefully guided by his master, he could feel the seer's eyes on his back, her smoldering sight glued on his slender, almost too thin frame - a sign of attention he was not comfortable with at all.

Harry stumbled into the antechamber, at long last releasing his breath and gasping for air. The wafts of incense ceased their assault on his nose and the choke grip that held his throat constricted seemed to recede into nothingness. He was barely cognizant of his master snatching his arm with no small amount of force and dragging him away, into a nearby chamber that seemed like a waiting room. Seats and sofas were set in front of each wall and the contrast between its austerity and the overwhelming, esoteric atmosphere of the Oracle's lair threw him back into his senses. Soon enough he found himself facing a stone-faced vampire, whose countenance promised no good at all.

"Sit here," Asmodeus snapped, pushing his student in a plush divan. He fished in his coat's pocket and drew out a small vial full of a reddish liquid, which he handed to Harry. "Drink this," he ordered. Harry complied, recognizing the calming draught his master had given him to drink not even an hour ago. He popped the lid open and took a swig of the drink, happy to feel the building headache ebb away, no longer hurting his head with a vengeance.

He exhaled loudly, bowing his head in resignation.

_Someone must have cursed me today - that's the only explanation. Otherwise I have the mother of bad lucks._

He sealed the lid and returned the flask back to its owner, still silent.

_Strange. He hasn't exploded yet...I think it's a bad sign. People always say that bombs with delayed detonation are more dangerous - so I suppose I must worry about this._

Sure enough, it wasn't long before Asmodeus' lips cracked, snapping into a livid scowl.

"Damn it to hell, Potter! I wonder how you manage to always get embroiled in a muck nobody would wish for!" Asmodeus began to rant, his brows fusing together and his eyes narrowing threateningly. If one had enough courage to look at him right now, he or she would be gazing at the epitome of pure exasperation. Madness, however, wasn't far away in the list of possible descriptions.

"I didn't ask for it! Remember? You're the one who took me here!" Harry protested angrily, tired with the blame game. "Now I've got two prophecies on my conscience - not one anymore!"

"I wasn't talking about that, Potter!" Asmodeus shot back, whipping an accusing finger at his student. "I was referring to _your name_!"

He wasn't sure about this but Harry had the impression that Asmodeus' cloak was billowing with swirling darkness, which wasn't a comforting sign. Vampires, incidentally, had very little self-control despite their secular endeavor to control their animalistic instincts.

"My name?" Harry asked dumbly, clearly thrown off tracks. "What has the Potter family name got to do with-"

Obviously, it wasn't the correct statement to hand out - and it didn't appease his interlocutor in the slightest.

"We are talking about your NICKNAME, Potter!" Asmodeus shouted, aggravated by his student's slowness. "The one the Oracle gave you! The SOULTAKER!" he raged, his face turning a slight shade of puce. Harry recoiled at the agitation that overtook the other vampire; obviously, something was amiss in the whole situation but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get his finger across the sensible subject.

_Not that I'd protest against his having a coronary_, a part of his mind simpered. _But then again he has no heart to begin with so it's useless harboring hopeless dreams._

"The...Soultaker?" he repeated slowly, wracking his brains to remember the Oracle's words.

The haze that had fallen on his mind had still not ebbed away - and the lightheadedness he was experiencing didn't help him face an irate Asmodeus at all. He would have gladly given his Firebolt away to have Fawkes trill on his side right now and coo him back to full awareness.

"Yes. The _Soultaker_," Asmodeus flatly replied. "Rarely does the Oracle give a nickname to someone calling for her Word. In most cases, we gain our nicknames through our hunting nights, feats or fights. Those directly named by the _Oracle herself_ find themselves bestowed with a LOT of importance in the vampire community! It's as if Queen Mum had said hello to you on the television and given your name to the entire nation - it makes you stand out of the crowd," he explained none too amiably. He paused for a second then turned to glower directly at Harry. "I was given my nickname through my Nightslasher training - and only the most powerful beings in our community get hailed or named by the Oracle. Only them. Not mere peasants or your average middle classes drunkard! And her giving war names is even rarer!" he raved, his feet resuming their usual pace.

"War names?" Harry pressed, still lost.

_No, Asmodeus would be the last individual on this planet to ever use makeup so I guess that must be blood flooding his face. Weird..._

Coronary was by now the last problem Asmodeus would need to worry about, judging from his worsening complexion.

"Bonecrusher - Skullripper - Lifeshredder - Swordwielder - Headbreaker - Bloodshedder - Soultaker. THOSE are war names!"

"_Bonecrusher_?" Harry asked, appalled. "You vampires do have a flourish for finding odd monikers," Harry half-sniggered, half-coughed; under his mask of relative befuddlement, however, reigned annoyance, resignation and horror at having another burden forced on his shoulders, as well as a new label to add to his growing pile. The arctic glare he received in return silenced him faster than an uppercut would. "Erm...sorry."

"I do have a...'moniker'...of my own, Potter..." Asmodeus said frostily, his eyes narrowing. "As do you...need I remind you 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'? I am...flummoxed by how easily you forget such a thing, however trivial it may sound to you. Besides, it is in your best interest not to eschew that notion...well, that _tradition_, as most vampires build their reputation and honor on it - when you mention a certain war name, a lot of stories, labels and other messages come along. They command respect from you and if you laugh at a certain name, no matter how ridiculous it sounds, you could very well alienate yourself from _our_ society - making yourself a few powerful enemies in the process. Names are harbingers of awe but also of fear, Potter. That numbskull Voldemort learned it a while ago and put that knowledge to good use," he snapped, leaning forward. "Never forget that."

"I have heard too many wizards cringing or stammering when I mention his...nickname, thank you. I think I'm far too used to it to easily forget," Harry replied, his patience wearing thin by the second. Asmodeus sneered then drew back, his cloak returning to its former state - unmoving and unmarred by eddying shadows.

"Then stop questioning the matter - the conclusions are already there for you to use. You may rebel against them but I advise you against going on an all-out war; you'll be wasting your breath and saliva on something far too entrenched in the wizarding and vampiric society to fix in a fortnight. There are things that have survived through decennia and even centuries so don't presume you can get rid of them in even a century or two, no matter how much sweat and blood you lose in the process."

"Maybe if Voldemort dies it'll stop," Harry sighed, knowing very well that the fear Voldemort had given birth to during his years of terror would survive him for many decennia. Even Hagrid had winced when he had revealed You-Know-Who's name to a small, raven-haired and bespectacled, eleven year-old child at his birthday - despite the ten years having gone between the Dark Lord's demise and that very moment. There were things in life that wouldn't die without putting up a good fight. "But I surmise I'm hoping for too much?" Harry said sardonically, stealing Asmodeus' words from his mouth before they were spoken. The vampire grumbled his assent and returned his gaze to the corridor in front of them, his fingers twitching. After a few seconds, they were once again in the great hall, where a hush fell on the audience gathered there as the two former wizards emerged from the Oracle's abode. For a scant second, Harry feared that someone might have eavesdropped on them but as curious gazes shifted back to their former direction, his shoulders slumped in grateful relief. Thankfully, Skinnard wasn't there anymore yet someone else had replaced him.

"Asmodeus."

With an aggravated grunt, the Nightslasher whipped around to find a black-clad vampire leaning casually on a nearby pillar, clutching an armful of papers. "Malachi," he returned much more calmly, without hostility this time. The two men strode over to each other, before trading a handshake. "Long time no see, ole mate. How's the weather in your blood-hole?"

"Gloomy," came the flat answer. "You know how Scotland's treating me but I'm fine by it - it fits my everyday mood fairly well," Asmodeus continued tersely, earning himself a hearty laugh from his companion. Harry remained two steps behind his master, unsure whether he should join in the conversation or not. Easy interaction wasn't his forte, especially with people who he didn't know. What is unknown was a potential threat, as his master had once said. "And this guy, there," Malachi interrupted, pointing to the young wizard with a gloved claw, "am I to assume he's another of your students? I remember the last one..." he chuckled.

"Don't you dare remind me of that dilettantish, incompetent weakling!" hissed Asmodeus, eyes flashing crimson. Harry could almost see smoke coming out of the vampire's ears. "It was bad enough Wilfred asked me to tutor him and I foolishly accepted as a way to repay my debt - that boy was far more a failure than I thought he would be! The only useful thing he did for me was forsake his apprenticeship and become a _pizza delivery boy_, nothing more, nothing less!" Harry cringed, already drowning in a bout of foreboding, dreary enough to make Sybill Trelawney proud of her student. _Don't talk about me, it'll be a disaster, don't talk about me..._he supplicated to whatever deity remained in its elysian realm high above.

"And this one?" Malachi snickered. "I gather he'll be a _milkman_ when he'll be done with you?"

_Fucking-_

"Hmph, he might," Harry's master answered, disdain creasing his features. "Anyway, he's better than nothing, quite above average but not extraordinary. Quite interesting, in overall. 'Promising' would be _too generous_ of me but I guess it still applies to him, to an extent." _Could have been worse,_ Harry thought, unconsciously releasing his breath. _And generous is still an understatement for a walking, snappish, blood-sucking iceberg._ "But he was as clumsy as a freshly castrated ox in the beginning, I should say."

_WHAT IN THE BLOODY-_

Malachi's eyes were glittering rather eerily at him; he couldn't decide, in his indignant mood, whether to be worried or intrigued by that sign. "I see. Sorry not to have introduced myself," he said, with a mocking curtsey, which Asmodeus interrupted with a "stop this travesty, for Dracula's sake! Can't you leave your shenanigans home?"

"Spoiling all the fun as always, I see," Malachi smirked back. "Anyway," he resumed, extending his hand at Harry, "I'm Malachi, Malachi Lifeshredder," he introduced himself. Upon Harry's dumb blinking, he clarified, "that's my nickname in the 'field'."

"I told you," Asmodeus smugly declared.

Malachi threw his companion a mirthful glance then returned to Harry. "Pardon me for the indiscretion, but what's your true name?" Malachi plastered a hurt expression on his face, puckering his lips in mocking disapproval. The snicker coming from Asmodeus told Harry that, indeed, this was a question that would normally have offended a normal vampire but Malachi didn't seem to obey to those rules. The frown on the dark-haired man, however, collapsed into a rogue grin. "I forgot it a while ago - when you become a vampire, your records in the government don't matter anymore. You're dead - a ghost - and most of us, in the process, lose our names and gain _nicknames_, which we adopt readily. As years go by, we are far too used being called by those new names to still bear our former ones. Becoming a vampire...is like a new life, if you see what I mean...so, I'm sorry but I'll pass for this time."

"Last time I checked, he went by 'Jezebel'," Asmodeus sneered, crossing his arms.

"Hey! I resent that - that's a _woman's_ name for blood's sakes, Skullripper - not a _man's_," Malachi protested. _Skullripper?_

"Could have fooled me," was the immediate answer.

"No wonder," his interlocutor grumbled. "Anyway, I must get going - besides, I'd like to share a word with you anytime soon, Skull. Things out there are getting a-going. I'd need some advice from your part - it's growing hectic as we are speaking." That made Harry's head turn and the young wizard caught in extremis the almost imperceptible blink his master gave at the request. "You know how to call me. Old ways are best, although the new ones are quite useful too...that mobile phone is quite neat, I must say," he grinned. "About time those mortals provided us with something that comes in handy when we need it. See you later, Asmodeus, errr..." he trailed off, remembering that Harry had still not introduced himself. _Drat!_ the young man cursed. He was, however, spared the trouble by his master, who conveniently interjected, "Harry, but he goes by 'Andrew' here. We'll talk about this later." The steely tones conveyed the message quite well to the long-haired vampire who nodded with an undecipherable expression and took his leave, striding towards another room with his arms still full of papers and ledgers.

"Seems quite a lively place," Harry commented casually, looking at the baroque architecture with slitted eyes. As his gaze swept over the large expanse, he noticed that most bystanders were now cluttered near the walls and not lingering near the center of the chamber, as if somebody or something had compelled them to pursue their incessant chatter slightly away. Perplexed he turned around till his eyes fell on a tall individual, hooded and bedecked in ample robes, making his way with a host of a dozen other vampires, gathered around him like a praetorian guard. Harry's eyes narrowed in curiosity at the man who was now walking towards the Oracle's abode, before Asmodeus regained his attention.

"It is a haven for all - a sanctuary that must be kept unsullied till the end of this world, at all costs. Here no feuds are allowed exist and many are those who come to mingle here - however, it is no place for sycophants or agitators - they would be slain in front of everyone for troubling the sanctity of this area," Asmodeus answered curtly, before grasping Harry's arm and dragging him towards the exit, the hooded man and his entourage forgotten in the blink of an eye. Once again, eyes were drawn to them as they got themselves towards the stairs that led to the outside world. He could hear the Nightslasher hissing softly as gazes locked on the pair, curiosity washing over it.

"Damn, damn, damn," Asmodeus cursed. "It went worse than I thought it would go!" he nearly shouted as they climbed the winding staircase at full speed. Harry had a great deal of trouble keeping pace with his instructor, while trying to understand what was at hand. "Had it not been for Skinnard we would have come and gone in all discretion, by Lestoat's fangs. Bloody, good-for-nothing, dirtblood-licker..."

Harry listened to the stream of cuss words flying off the former Auror's mouth, paying but little attention to his vehement expletives. Instead, the gears of his mind were in motion, processing what he had heard during the few minutes that they had spent in that underground complex. Finally, he spoke up, interrupting Asmodeus' still ongoing raving session. "Is the Council reliable?"

Asmodeus' glare cut holes in his eyes but he didn't heed the irritation aimed at him. "What's that for a question, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, unwilling to be deterred by the recent developments as well as the increasing annoyance of his master. Which was hard work for him indeed. "Well, you guaranteed me that the Oracle wouldn't divulge my new prophecy to anyone but since that Skinnard ruined our little come-and-go expedition here, is there a chance that they'd learn about me and decide to take steps?" Asmodeus' reply was as immediate as it was harsh. "Don't be an ass, Potter. They are completely unaware of your true identity - besides, why would they bother themselves with the apprentice of a former Nightslasher who incidentally chose to live in autarchy a while ago?"

Harry frowned, then sullenly offered his riposte, "well...you just said it 'autarchy'. Why would someone who had shut himself off his community suddenly come back? And with an apprentice, on top of that? I don't know, but judging from my experience at Hogwarts, I wouldn't be surprised if people didn't start gossiping about it, even for the sake and pleasure of badmouthing others. And since that...err...Skinnard and you don't seem to get well along..." he let his sentence hanging there and he was rewarded, shortly thereafter, by the clenching of Asmodeus' jaw. "I understand your logic but I still doubt the Council would do anything about you - they'd merely acknowledge the fact but go as far as summon your for an interrogation? Not a chance in Gehenna, Potter," he snapped irritably.

"Surprising," Harry sneered, trying to undermine his teacher's arguments - at least for once in his lifetime. _Score in my favor._ "I was accused of breaking a couple of laws last year and I still had to be judged in front of the entire Wizengamot, therefore..."

He narrowly avoiding crashing into Asmodeus' back as the man stopped in his tracks, before his head revolved slowly to face his student. "The Wizengamot. The entire council," he repeated slowly, his face advertising, _'stop shitting me or I'll use your teeth as tenpins next time I'll go to a bowling center'_.

"Err...yeah," Harry confirmed, not sure where this would go.

He was flabbergasted to see Asmodeus' shoulder slunk low and his head droop with an exasperated sigh. "You're definitely abnormal, Potter," he growled wearily.

Harry rolled his eyes at his master and was about to resume his walk when he saw the other vampire stiffen then grab his elbow with clawed hands. "It seems that we will have to take a shortcut," he hissed lowly before taking his apprentice towards one of the many corridors that could be found every ten meters in the staircase at a perpendicular angle. "Where are we going?" Harry questioned, alarmed by the change of plans. He noticed that the walls had lesser decorum than before and from time to time he would spot cobwebs here and there, hinting that the path they were taking was leading them to lesser used areas.

"A group of vampires is currently dillydallying at the entrance - and from the looks of it, we'll have to choose another way out of here to avoid unnecessary attention. We must contain damage."

Harry nodded, not one bit too happy with what had happened that night. He was certain that in one way or another, there would be prices to pay and sacrifices to make. The two set out for their new journey, but this time, instead of dashing upstairs, their new path wound deeper and deeper into the entrails of Earth, quite to the confusion of the younger vampire. They passed a small anteroom guarded by huge, towering gargoyles and turned to their right. The air was slightly staler but only a vampire's nose could notice the change. "Where are we going exactly?"

"There are three other hidden entrances in the neighborhood. One is in an old forest, hidden behind some rocks and two are built within secluded alleys, far from prying eyes and ears. We're heading for one of the alleys - the forest is less safe than one could be led to think. Since it is a quite empty area, save for the local fauna, vampires do tend to chat around the rocks as they believe it's a safe place to talk - hence a higher probability to meet unwanted people on our path. We'll be walking through the Archives - that was where Malachi was headed, a library that has held chronicles and records of Britain's vampiric community for thousands of years. Only scholars go there nowadays and they are likely to concentrate on the works gathered there than on bystanders."

For five minutes they walked, hastily dashing through endless corridors and other passages, under many arches and other ornate gates. For Harry, it was like traipsing inside a labyrinth chiseled in the likes of a Renaissance cathedral. Suddenly, Asmodeus' grip tightened and their pace quickened. "Damn - I didn't know there were so many of them here," he grumbled, without explaining whom he was exactly referring to. Harry scowled as they nearly broke into a run - making it all the more difficult for his worn out being. They finally got inside a large mezzanine, which seemed to overlook an inner courtyard surrounded by dozens of pillars. Harry, despite his increased abilities, was by now panting.

It then seemed like a stroke of fortune when Asmodeus stopped in his tracks, but the look of the Nightslasher's face told his apprentice that his brutally freezing in place was not a good omen in the least. Harry's senses stretched outwards, trying to discover whatever caused his master to curtail their progression. He was then rewarded by a small feeling at the edge of his mind, like a caress - a sort of natural warning that other vampires were in their immediate vicinity.

"The hell be with them," the former Auror snarled, then snatched his charge and pulled him - no, threw him at the railing between them and the courtyard beneath. Harry grasped the stony surface, gripping the ledge tightly between his fingers to prop himself up. "What the fuck-"

"Jump!" Asmodeus hissed, already swinging his legs over the marble wall.

Harry looked back with wide eyes. "What?" he choked.

"I told you to jump - they're coming here!" was his razor sharp answer.

"Who?"

"We don't have time, Potter - _jump!_" Asmodeus growled, gripping his apprentice by the collar and forcing him to climb over the cold railing and let his feet dangle in midair. Six meters beneath them laid the shadowy surface of the courtyard, its floor seeming awfully solid to the young vampire. His head snapped back towards the other vampire, his face filled with disbelief. "But -"

He never had the chance to express his protest as a brutal shove in his back pushed him off his support, causing him to fall towards the ground. Head first.

Time seemed to come to a crawl as foot by foot, then inches by inches, the floor came to meet his body, its shiny, polished surface glaringly precise in Harry's eyes. His sight stretched out, filling in every microscopic crevice laid bare in front of him, as if he needed to find every imperfection in the world around. His fall seemed to have been slowed down - as if every law in this universe had been reversed by the hands of an unknown deity. Harry noticed the abrupt change in his perceptions and perceived the sudden thrill in his spine and how his body seemed to chill, followed by the now quite familiar quite, soft chills that coursed through his limbs. Slowly but surely, as his body rushed to meet the ground, his hands and knees moved forwards - downwards.

Then-

Harry landed on all fours like an oversized cat, his muscles bending to absorb the shock. He was surprised to feel no pain in his straining ligaments and no pricking sensation in his bare hands - when he normally should have felt something that would make him wince. Startled, he adjusted himself into a kneeling position and quickly examined his palms, confused to see no scratch or blemish on them. The skin was absolutely intact.

He had once again gone berserker - allowing his instincts to take over and save him from rather nasty injuries. If only he could call upon those abilities without a life or death situation...

He choked quite anticlimactically as a hand grabbed him from behind, hauling him onto his feet then, without missing a beat, pulling him towards an empty archway. During those mere five seconds he had completely forgotten about Asmodeus and their current predicament. And the old (in mortal terms) Nightslasher had never been bestowed with a lot of patience in his life. "Get a grip on yourself, Potter!" the stalwart vampire snapped, forcing Harry to resume his run towards safety. The wizarding world's Chosen One could hear faraway voices in their wake, probably those that Asmodeus sought to avoid and that were now entering the mezzanine. Harry had by then found himself already walking on a rather slippery staircase, that reminded him a lot of Snape's potions. The fumes from the professor's potions, however, weren't thankfully there - although the torches on the wall were doing a quite good rendition of Hogwarts' darkest passages.

"We're taking another shortcut - now we're at the back of the Archives' room - right behind the backs of those we were about to meet - we won't go near the bookshelves and the room itself since there are antitheft wards erected around but we'll remain close to the walls. These are old passages, so they are less likely to be monitored either by magic or by eye," the Nightslasher whispered, leading Harry forwards. The dull pain in his legs was now making itself known to his brains - probably increased by exhaustion and the frazzled state of his mind.

Harry nodded and kept walking, through chambers filled with stacks of parchments, books, huge and dusty tomes, until they found themselves stepping in a large, domelike structure that also served as a crossroads. However, Harry's musings were cut short as he hard Asmodeus softly growling. He was about to ask why when-

"Damn it to hell, they're coming from the other side!" Asmodeus cursed, shoving Harry towards the nearest wall. He looked upwards and spotted, towering above them on a stony cornice, gripping the outthrust with its clawed hands and viciously baring its sharpened fangs at them. "There!" Asmodeus exclaimed. He thrust his finger at the elaborately carved column that bore the statue's weight and pulled Harry towards it. "Climb - we're going to hide up there."

"On the gargoyle?" Harry sputtered skeptically.

"I thought you knew how to Shadowcloak, Potter?" Asmodeus stormed back.

"Oh hell," Harry replied, pulling himself upwards albeit with great reluctance. The column, thankfully, was of Corinthian design, meaning that the barrel looked like a great sheet of cloth tightly wrung out - creating spinning bulges that allowed the two vampires some leverage to climb up, towards a cornice situated four meters above the floor. Harry gripped the marble edge tightly and bent his arms. He swung his legs sideways, using the momentum to get his feet to catch the ledge. He squatted as he gathered himself up, passing under the stony creature's mighty bat wings, trying to relocate behind the wide limbs and find a hideout. Asmodeus, suddenly at his side, proceeded to Shadowcloak himself, transforming his body into a thin layer of ethereal darkness that encroached upon the gargoyle, till it became like a second skin, clinging to the carved, grimacing creature. From afar, nobody would ever see the difference as the statue itself was ebony black and gave no reflection of the dim light. A vampire wrapping himself around the landmark would be completely invisible. Harry took the cue and imitated his master, becoming another shadow a few seconds later, finding refuge near the gargoyle's hind legs, away from view.

He huddled closer to the gargoyle, his insubstantial body enshrouding the statue like a flimsy coat. He didn't dare peer over the edge, for fear of attracting the Nightslashers' attention. Whispers came to him from beneath - softly muttered words his enhanced hearing helped him pick up.

"I am sure they were here - but how in Gehenna did they get away?" exclaimed one of their pursuers. Footsteps soon followed, as the men beneath Harry scattered to get their bearings and locate their prey.

"This place is rumored to be like a sponge - full of holes and cavities - maybe they took one of the secret entrances. After all, not all of them have been discovered and some have fallen into oblivion," came the strained answer, dripping with impatience.

"And how could they know about them if we don't even do?" snapped the interlocutor, before a third voice cut in impatiently. Harry was tempted to peer over the edge and yell at them but he wasn't sure he could perform that stunt without getting mauled by Asmodeus.

"Enough bickering, you two. Raleigh, Mathias, you go back to the second level and tell the detail there to regroup near the main hall at the second junction. I have the feeling that our targets aren't far away - if they are intelligent, they will go to the catacombs - since they are still linked to the old mines and therefore to the old mining complex. We'll head there before they have a chance to bail out."

"What about the other entrances?" the first man asked, drawing sighs from his companions. "Can't they-"

"Don't be daft, Mathias," snapped a fourth person. "There are wards all over the place - we would have known if they had gone that way. Obviously they haven't."

Harry retreated a bit in his makeshift alcove, trying to reduce his profile and make himself as invisible as possible. Risking a sideway glance he spotted Asmodeus' shadow slithering up the gargoyle's, neck, silently inching towards the ledge. Harry was probably a Gryffindor by heart but he knew that there were boundaries he was not to trespass this night. And to end us as barbecue meat as part of a Nightslasher's meal was the last of his wishes. A soft clatter accompanied by the rustle of cloth signaled the departure of the law enforcers. Asmodeus' shape automatically coalesced back to its normal state. The vampire bent over the edge and risked an eye, checking the surroundings before beckoning to his apprentice with a wave of his hand. Reluctantly, Harry followed suit, allowing his body to return to full solidity. The two jumped from the gargoyle and landed meters lower, in utter silence. Harry didn't have the leisure to look around as Asmodeus grabbed his elbow and towed him towards the nearest hallway, without a backwards look. From the confines of his mind, Harry could still sense the other vampires in the immediate surrounding and he knew that the longer he gallivanted there the likeliest it was for him to be discovered.

The two sprinted through a maze of corridors and stairwells, their journey stretching deeper into the buried cathedral of sorts, either going deeper or higher. He scraped his elbows and shoulders countless times on the walls as they turned abruptly, switching paths to confuse their pursuers, whom, Harry realized, were still near - meaning that they had figured out Asmodeus' trick and were now in hot pursuit. As they thundered through the stairs, Harry could feel his legs begin to ache and his lungs burning with every breath released. His speed suffered from his increasing exhaustion. Asmodeus seemed to have noticed that as he suddenly thrust his arm in Harry's direction and glared at him. "Bite it - it will replenish your body."

"Bite?" Harry wheezed.

"YES, BITE," Asmodeus exploded. Harry shook his head and grabbed the proffered limb, before bringing the wrist to his mouth and sinking his fangs into it. His mind didn't dwell on the taste, as a divine flavor suddenly sent his senses aflame, driving him into a state close to exhilaration, as blood seeped through his lips and fell on his hungry tongue. After a few seconds (during which Harry had to make sure he didn't trip while sucking the life fluid out of the other vampire's arm) Harry released Asmodeus' arm and muttered his thanks. A sharp tingling at the back of his head suddenly caused him to hiss, as if he something unseen had angered him. Asmodeus apparently had experienced the same signal, as he abruptly stopped in mid-stride and spun around, his own fangs growing exponentially. "Curse them - we won't have time to reach the entrance. Shadowcloak yourself, Potter. We'll have to fight them here."

"Fight? I didn't learn how to fight using the Shadowcloak," Harry protested angrily. Now that he had drunk some blood he could find enough strength to complain about the situation. He wondered if the small amount of vampiric manna he'd been given would allow him to fend off seasoned Nightslashers, but he intended to give it a try. He braced himself then rehearsed the mantras Priscilla had taught him, wishing for his body to turn once again into shapeless shadow. "Leave them to me, then - but shadows can fight against shadows, Potter. A wizard can't do anything against Shadowcloaked vampires but one can't say the same about Shadowcloaked vampires. Just ram into them and knock them off their feet - that'll be enough. I'll deal with them afterwards."

Harry nodded (or at least thought to, as his shapeless form didn't have a material head to begin with) and readied himself for the confrontation. His immaterial eyes pierced the darkness beneath him, his sight stretching forward through the dimly lit staircase and seeking out for his target. He finally found them - small, blurry shapes growing in the distance, swishing towards him at high speed - Shadowcloaks. He glanced left and noted that his master had also become a great mass of swirling black, hovering menacingly above the steps, tendrils of darkness angrily whizzing in midair. He could almost feel the tension in the air - like crackling electricity sending his senses into overdrive, as insubstantial adrenaline flowed through his 'veins'.

The shadows stopped in their flight as if examining them then rushed forwards, as if pouncing on them. Harry rose higher, letting one of the five shadows barrel beneath him and ducked to his right, in time to avoid a second pursuer. He swirled around the face his opponents and missed a direct collision with a third Nightslasher, as a great cloak tried to wrap around his intangible body. He flew to the ground and began dodging the flurry of Nightslashers soaring in the staircase, like great birds hunting each other. Harry flung himself to the left and found himself behind one of the Nightslasher. Remembering what Asmodeus had instructed him to, he threw his body at the vampire and pushed with all his might, hoping that his immaterial hands would indeed find something to exert pressure on. Surprisingly - and to his greatest delight, he felt a report in his imaginary fingertips and applied more force. His momentum drove him farther with his target, eventually ramming it into a nearby wall. However, Harry's sense of satisfaction was short-lived as the Shadowcloak cushioned itself by behaving like a rather flexible bubblegum - and suddenly, Harry found himself thrown back into the opposite wall, as the Shadowcloak expanded back to full volume. Harry cartwheeled in midair and as he spun wildly around, his gaze fell on one of the torches affixed on the walls. His imaginary hand grabbed the item, took it off its bronze mount and swung it in a wide arc, causing the Nightslasher to back off in order to avoid the flames. Harry repeated the gesture a couple of times, effectively interrupting the other vampires in their fight and the torch drew large circles, threatening to set the antagonists afire. Somehow Harry knew that fire was one weapon he could use against his peers - by the way it flickered in front of him he automatically knew it was a foe and not something he was immune to. Instinctive.

The Nightslashers paired up and as Harry skipped to the side to avoid the encroaching Shadowcloaks, he didn't see a swirl of pitch black hurl itself at the young wizard, causing him to loosen his grip around the torch and let it go. The burning piece of wood clattered on the floor, its light putting the surroundings aglow for a moment before it weakened. It was now harder to discern what was true shadow and what wasn't. Although he had enhanced eyes, Harry still had a hard time determining what was a threat and what was just empty air. As his eyes darted from left to right, the wind was knocked out of his lungs, as he was flung on the ground by a Nightslasher rushing at him from behind.

Harry felt his throat being constricted, as if someone was trying to choke him; looking downwards he spotted a ribbon of eddying black tightening on his body, attempting to squeeze the life out. He was about to lose consciousness when a muffled grunt erupted somewhere near and the offender wrapped around Harry's black found himself airborne. Harry immediately turned around to see Asmodeus' ominous shape towering above him, a strange, infuriated hissing sound emanating from the hovering pool of shadow. He could tell that his master was not happy in the least. Looking around, Harry spotted a man lying on the ground, his temples bloodied and his face a bit bluish, as if he'd been strangled, too.

From the corner of his eye, he picked two black shapes hurling themselves at the pair. Harry repeated his earlier moves, sidestepping the two Nightslashers before throwing himself at a third opponent sprinting behind his colleagues, with the desperate hope of hitting a painful area or at least make him back off. The young wizard was rewarded with a vicious snarl as the Nightslasher bounced back, its shadow twirling rather angrily. Had he had hands to move around, he'd have been covering his head, judging from how the vampire behaved. Obviously, Harry had struck at a VERY painful area - probably the face. Without skipping a beat, Harry lashed out once again and his foe was thrown back into a wall, before soundlessly slinking to the damp ground. The huddle of shadows flickered for a moment, before it turned into the hunched body of a gaunt man whose nose and forehead were bleeding quite profusely. Harry didn't have the time to gloss over his victory as something barreled into him, sending him 'tumbling' down the stairs, before he manage to rise to the ceiling, cursing under his breath. Looking downwards he saw another man, wearing the Nightslasher's attire, eagle-spread and unmoving. Harry winced in compassion, knowing how brutal Asmodeus could be. His eyes darted upwards, in time to see his teacher pounce onto the last vampire and holding him in a vicious hold - till the mantle of black shuddered a couple of times, struggled weakly then became limp. Harry stared at Asmodeus' Shadowcloak, realizing that the former Auror had taken on four Nightslashers by himself and dealt with them without any apparent problem.

Asmodeus reverted to his 'human' form and glowered at his apprentice, beckoning him towards the upper part of the staircase. There were neither welts nor bruises on his face and Harry could only wonder how he had managed to get out of a fight unscathed and still full of energy. He let go of his interrogations and fell in step behind his master, resuming their run towards the exit. Behind them, the fallen torch finally gave in to the dampness and its flame finally went out, plunging the scenery in heavy darkness.

"Hell and damnation!" the Nightslasher swore under his breath, his face definitely livid. He might have been victorious but it seemed that the only times Asmodeus ever glossed were when he was persecuting his disciples - or so Harry deemed.

And a certain student couldn't have put his master's expletive in better words.

"Really a strange night, Potter," Asmodeus commented sardonically, obviously none too pleased with the latest development. What was even more eerie was the fact that Asmodeus was resuming their discussion as if nothing had occurred in the meantime - and his breathing was even, not winded, a fact that perplexed Harry although it was no surprise to him. "Not only is there this prophecy to keep fresh in our minds, Skinnard gets to see you and I, I in turn meet someone who tells me that things are hectic and I see Nightslashers swarming over the place and keeping tabs on areas that should theoretically be half-forgotten by the newer generations - then we have a brawl in the holy of holies of the vampiric world. A real blast, if I were to talk in a modern way."

Harry sighed loudly, tired with the Nightslasher's sarcasm. "What were they doing there?"

"I don't know - but this year has been marked with strange sights and occurrences, Potter."

"And you are telling _me _that?" Harry interjected tersely. "Somehow that sort of sentence is getting very old, in my opinion."

"Vampires are immortal - age doesn't matter for us - but the repetitiveness of our time does," Asmodeus snapped. "Anyway, the only thing I can deduce is that there is something going astray in the community - only the Council can assign guards to specific areas and I doubt the Nightslashers would be zealous enough to take the initiative and decide to guard practically abandoned paths on their own. They have better to do in the meantime."

"The Council?" Harry offered.

"Possibly - but the councilmen and councilwomen can order the Nightslashers around without having to answer to the Council as long as it is for the sake of our community's security. It is one of the only cases where the Elders can act independently from each other - otherwise they must convene and discuss matters together before making decisions."

"I didn't see Nightslashers when we came here, though," Harry observed, clutching his throat to ease the ebbing pain on his jugular. "By the way, can they determine our identities? I heard them talking about wards."

Asmodeus shook his head, and his words weren't biting for once in his lifetime. "Not exactly - I know where you're heading - a vampiric version of forensics using wards, eh? It's not possible here and besides, even if there are libraries and archives as well as halls for bootlickers and other celebrities, it still remains the abode of the Oracle. Only her living and working quarters need wards - as well as for the libraries, by the way. But the rest doesn't require security systems. Seeing Nightslashers patrolling the mansion is something quite rare, too - as people might see it as an attempt from the Council to meddle with the Oracle' business and try to manipulate her - if not blatantly seize control of the power she holds over our society."

"I see," Harry said, noticing that they were going higher than before - and were most than likely heading for the ground level, this time. Logically the exit shouldn't be far away.

"It's also a sanctuary and only security matters warrant the presence of law enforcers - a very old law. The only way our identity could be found is by interrogating the wards on who walked through the front gate and who didn't. People usually enter and exit the monument by the same area - so, if they ever manage to get the Oracle's cooperation in this, they can know whoever messed with them - but otherwise..." he trailed off, running a hand in his crew-cut hair. "On the sidelines, I noticed that those Nightslashers were deliberately masking their presence by using a variation of the Shadowcloak - hence the reason why I didn't locate them in the first place."

"How did you locate them, then?" Harry questioned, feeling his former exhaustion returning ounce by ounce. His onetime exhilaration was ebbing away, replaced by an odd sense of weariness. His feet were beginning to hurt and they felt like packs of lead - and as if woes didn't come alone, he could sense a headache churning in his head, promising him a not-too-agreeable remainder of the night. He already felt the pain beginning to ravage his mind like a harvester reaping its yearly loom.

"By experience," Asmodeus replied curtly. "Don't forget that I've worked with them so I know how they proceed. Noticing them becomes a second nature after some time."

"Do you think it has something to do with us?"

The older vampire said nothing then slowly answered, seemingly uncertain about his words. "Maybe. I'm not sure whether we are the direct cause of this increased surveillance but we _might _be linked to it...in some way or another. The other hypothesis is that we are suffering from a massive case of bad luck and we were here the wrong day and at the wrong time."

Wooden torches were now replaced by oil lamps and the walls were no longer made of old, granite stones but of black marble, finely chiseled and without imperfection. They were obviously in a rather recent gallery, which left Harry awash with high hopes of finally seeing the end to this night's painful martyrdom. Somehow, he felt that it had been even worse than his little escapade to the Ministry of Magic, despite the fact that he and his master had gone off better than the previous time. The comparison was unjust, unrelated and completely irrelevant but the burden on his shoulders seemed greater than ever, as if shackles had been added as some divine retribution to his attempting to bring an end to everything.

"Bad luck? That's something I'm getting accustomed to, too," Harry groused, his mind instantly going back to that lone individual calmly walking through the large hall, with the other vampires making way for him, like the sea parting to let Moses walk through. The comparison wasn't that irrelevant or stupid, now that he thought about it - and the entourage of the mystery person reminded him a lot of the Nightslashers he had just seen - same attire, same stride, same demeanor. The similitude was nearly baffling.

"Then take a bloody subscription!" the Nightslasher growled, throwing his hands in the air

_Been there, done that. But I request a reimbursement for quality abuse._

They entered a huge antechamber full of statues of tall, gaunt and sinister men - obviously vampires that had left a name in their community's history. God knew whether Harry would join them anytime soon in that hall of fame. He hoped not - even if there was some honor at hand. An umpteenth flight of stairs finally appeared in front of them, heading upwards. Asmodeus' pace then increased noticeably, forcing Harry to quicken his. Three minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a blank wall, with in its middle a carved wolf's head, holding in its snout a large black ring, which the Nightslasher grabbed and pulled. A low rumble then rose from the ornament as if it took life, till the pane of stone in front of the two vampires began to move, rotating on hidden hinges and unveiling a dark, dampened alley. A whiff of fresh, cool air told Harry that they were now safe and two steps away from liberty. His master paid no heed to his feelings and unceremoniously dragged him out of the doorway, leading them to a shadowed spot. Just as he set foot outside, Harry felt a tingle on his neck. "Wh-what was that?"

"What?" his companion hissed, obviously daring him to bring him any more bad news.

"I felt something - was there something around?"

Asmodeus shot him an exasperated glare and ground, "that was vampiric magic, Potter - just what we were mentioning a while ago. Wards that prevent human beings from accessing the sanctuary without either the Oracle's leave or the Council's. They prevent Apparition, too. You can only access this mansion if you are a vampire and, or if you are invited in. Otherwise the wards will repel any form of intrusion, especially from wizards, werewolves, veelas, giants and other magical creatures deemed unworthy of being granted entrance to this palace. The Oracle is much like a princess or a queen, hence the presence of numerous security measures. Note that the Oracle's Word supersedes that of the Council. In her own way she holds more power than those aristocrats - and consequently more value in everybody's eyes. Her prophecies are invaluable."

"Does she?"

Asmodeus sniffed, his eyes darting from left to right, surveying the surroundings for any Nightslasher lying in wait and ready to pounce on them like rabid dogs. "She is much older than you think, Potter. She walked the nights eons ago. Nobody knows exactly when she was born but she was already there when Rome reached its apogee. Some say that she even witnessed Great Britain being invaded by the Romans and the Empire tumbling under the hands of the Goths and other barbarians," he grumbled. "She has been the guideline of many leaders who asked for the Advice of the Gods. Have you ever heard how a certain French president relied on his daily horoscope to make his own decisions? How many rulers, in the Middle Ages, have lent their attention to the clergy or asked for the counsel of a priest or a holy individual? By controlling what gives society a reason to live as well as a promise of a better future, you can control their reason to exist and eventually _society itself._ Religion or anything touching to higher instances are sources of ultimate control. However, according to our ancestral laws, the Oracle has no real prerogatives...except that all vampires hearken unto her like children would raptly listen to their own mother."

"Are there castes here?" Harry asked, his nose flooded with the thousand fragrances of the night, with its dominating dampness and the unmistakable stench of decaying flora, grime and dirty stone. Somehow it felt better than the sharp, oppressive scent of the underground facility underneath. It didn't smell of freedom and safety, even it those were nothing but subjective notions.

"Castes? Not quite. Clans and families, yes. But no predetermined social echelons - unless you count power or wealth as a denominator and in that case, yes, there are echelons, as in every form of society in this world."

"Naturally," Harry commented wryly, then frowned. "Tell me, does Priscilla - and you, by the way - belong to a caste or a clan or is she an outsider?"

"Why are you asking that?" Asmodeus asked, more civilly than he normally would.

Harry shrugged, once again feeling a thousand tons settling on his worn shoulders. His burden was growing heavier by the minute as the boundaries of his world got more and more defined - and not always in the best of ways. He was a barely born immortal but it was as if he had aged a hundred years in five seconds. "Just wanted to know, that's all - what I can rely on and what I can expect from others. My strengths and weaknesses."

"There's quite a list of those."

"Tell me about it."

"Another time, maybe - anyway, Priscilla and I are Rogues."

"Rogues?" Harry repeated, his ears perking up at the term.

"Rogues, Potter," Asmodeus explained with thinning patience, "are vampires that have no allegiances, except to the Council. They used to be called Peasants in the Middle Ages but the word changed halfway through the Renaissance as certain individuals, former Rogues, started their own clans by bringing their relatives and friends, sharing Immortality with them. As they gained power, the name lost its derogatory meaning and it was replaced by something more up to date and accurate in its own way. Rogues are, literally, people without a leash around their neck. We are our own masters. Just like you."

"So I can only expect support from the Council?" Harry sighed resignedly.

"If they decide to be benevolent, yes. If they see past your being a potential tool, yes. Otherwise they'll be wary of you, although they are far too powerful to expect you to be a threat to their dominion. But they'll only lend their strength and resources if they are forced to. They won't break the headlock between the Wizarding World and the vampire community without the assurance that they will win the sudden change in the balance of powers. Besides, Rogues are basically people that don't have any masters and therefore are sort of potentially more troublesome than Clan members, who can be controlled. Therefore, even though you won't be ostracized for not belonging to any Clan, officials will think twice before offering their help in any endeavor of yours. Because there is no guarantee you will stick to the laws of old. For those who are under the auspices of Clan heads, there are politically less risks, although it doesn't make those higher-ups any less annoying in terms of power."

"I see."

"The bottom line, Potter, is that you are basically _alone_. Malachi and some others can help you but behind the scenes - they cannot be implicated in others' business, as the risks are too high."

"What about you? Are you the reckless, selfless type or do you prefer to stay put and watch from afar?" Harry asked quietly. He could almost feel the air turning into stone as the question hung unanswered. Finally, Asmodeus turned to him, his face unreadable.

"I do not gamble, Potter. I need to ascertain myself of certain things before acting."

"Meaning?"

"It'd depend on the situation."

Harry shook his head; he knew he wouldn't get any clearer answer from his master and the tension was too thick in the air to keep this discussion going on for long. Adding more to his own discomfort was also out of question. He nodded at Asmodeus, who produced from his cloak the Portkey for the journey back to Priscilla's apartment. He grabbed hold of it, closing his eyes as he imagined what tomorrow would look like. The night suddenly seemed colder than it previously was - an eerie feeling, even for a vampire accustomed to it. The jerk behind his navel signaled his departure from the ground a second later.

Two seconds later the small, dampened alley had returned to its previous, abandoned and silent state.

* * *

When Harry's feet entered in contact with linoleum instead of cold brick, he was satisfied to see that he had not lost his footing, like he always did each time he traveled by Portkey or Floo Powder. Turning around, he saw that he wasn't in Asmodeus' mansion but back in Priscilla's apartment. The lights were dimmed and it seemed that the blonde vampire was still waiting for them or was still up for some reason.

Asmodeus cleared his throat, just as Harry's roommate's voice floated from the kitchen. "Harry? Ya back?"

"I'm here, Cilia," he called back, taking care not to speak too loud. Lizzie was probably deep in sleep right now but vampires were, for a fact, bestowed with an excellent hearing. Five seconds later, he managed to give a weak smile at his guardian as she came in the living room, holding a mop and some cutlery in her hands. "Modie? What ya doin' here? Somethin' wrong?" she questioned, the worry in her voice evident.

The Nightslasher rolled his eyes and grumbled, dropping himself in the nearest sofa. "That's the understatement of the century, Cilia," he growled. "It was an utter nightmare."

"What?"

"I had to take Potter to the Oracle," Asmodeus began.

"Tha' _Oracle_?" Priscilla sputtered. "Why would ya need ta go there?" she asked, bewildered. "Ya were supposed ta train him, not get around in places like that!" she protested, indignant with the news. One part of Harry's mind was tempted to laugh at Asmodeus' feeble attempts to calm down the agitated vampire but the other told him to sit still, remain silent and mourn the situation. And his survival instinct made him choose the second option. Leaving one Nightslasher to deal with a furious young woman.

Said young woman then turned her back to the former Auror and whipped around to stare at the sitting wizard with flames dancing in her blue eyes. "An' you - why did ya go there?" she spat, quenching the faint glimmer of hope in Harry's heart. His last chance to conclude the night on a good note was shot to hell when his roommate bore holes in his own eyeballs. Harry was very much like a prisoner being hanged by then, judging by how constricted his throat felt. "Err..."

"Don't ya 'err' me, young man," Priscilla hissed, her fangs growing. "Why?"

Harry was feeling quite lost - how, by the way, did he manage not only to, in succession, have a history lesson, be pelted with a bout of twisted philosophy, receive revelations about his scar, lose control on himself, be stunned, receive another maddening set of discoveries and a sermon about his future plans, then go to Thomaston Ridge for an interview with the Oracle. It was making his mind spin. He was, thankfully, spared the trouble by a begrudging Asmodeus.

"Because I led him there."

The immediate consequence of the admission was Priscilla's wrath finding another target. By the way she turned back, tightlipped, to glare at the former Auror, she wasn't surprised at all. She knew that Harry wouldn't probably do something like that on his own - especially when he knew very little about the vampiric community. "As I thought - so now, for the last time, WHY? AND WHAT FOR?"

Harry hissed at her and nodded at Lizzie's door, inciting her to shush to keep her sister asleep. Asmodeus drew his wand and immediately cast a privacy charm, re-enabling Priscilla to yell in the now completely acoustically sealed off expanse. "ANSWER ME!"

"Cilia," Harry began, before Asmodeus interrupted him, obviously mustering his calm to confront the ire of the young woman. "Potter had a question about prophecies and the only way I thought to help him out and in the same instant introduce him to a part of _our_ world was to lead him to Thomaston Ridge, to the Oracle's chamber."

"Harry's world is HERE, in this HOUSE, in this TOWN. The wizarding world and the vampire community are both SOMETHING ELSE, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" she screamed. Harry frowned at her notions of what his life would be, although some part of him, deep beneath, agreed fervently with the idea. Yet he didn't like the idea of having his perceptions of life already decided for him by someone else. Priscilla was obviously trying to protect him.

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!" Asmodeus shouted back. "Damn it, woman, listen to me and calm down! Sooner or later Potter would have had to meet his NEW peers - especially when he'll need assets for his role in the wizarding world. He needs to know what he can rely on, what he should distrust and where his boundaries lie - his going to the Oracle was something that could only be delayed but not prevented or avoided, by Dracula's blood!"

"Then why now?" Priscilla returned, almost pleadingly. "Why now, of all moments?"

"It couldn't be helped," Asmodeus answered, lowering his tone in accord with his interlocutor. "What happened in the Mansion was also unpredicted and it seems that _our_ world, the world of _our peers by blood and name_, Cilia, is also moving of its own accord - and from the likes of it, not in the most comforting of ways. We both made our moves at the same time, unaware of each other, that's all."

Priscilla rubbed her eyes, letting out a frustrated breath. "Of all tha' things ta happen," she murmured, her accent back.

"I know, I know," Asmodeus amended. "Consider it bad luck or a nefarious set of coincidences, but somehow we got noticed by Nightslashers who were keeping an eye on the Mansion and got hunted down."

"Nightslashers," Priscilla repeated quietly. Which was not a good sign.

"Yes," Asmodeus confirmed, trying to defuse the situation as fast as possible. "Nightslashers. Something happened in the meantime and we were caught in the crossfire. The consequence was that, while we were trying to get out unnoticed, we had to break into a run and we had something short of a run-in with a group of Nightslashers dispatched to patrol the area. We had to knock a few of them out by using the Shadowcloak. But our identities remained safe in the end."

"Good Lord in Heavens," Priscilla lamented.

"That's not all," Asmodeus continued, his tone now grim.

"What else?" Priscilla exclaimed, losing her self-control. "What else went awry tonight?"

"We met that Skinnard whoreson in the Great Hall," Asmodeus said briskly, although his eyes were watching the female vampire uncertainly. Harry, for his part, was startled to see her figure stiffen and hear her breath hitch. Slowly, she turned her head towards her former master. "Skinnard? As in, _Reuben _Skinnard?"

"There is only one Skinnard in this world, thank the gods for that blessing," Asmodeus replied softly, though with conviction. "Although it's already one too many for everyone's good."

If that could ever happen in this world, the female vampire lost all of her anger then proceeded to pale, before letting her hitched breath out. "That is bad," she exhaled.

"We already knew that," the Nightslasher provided, biting his lip.

"No," Priscilla emphasized impatiently. "I mean, real _bad_. If they were to learn..."

"I know, I know," Asmodeus interrupted her, "that's why I am in a rather foul mood tonight. That bastard was the first to shoot our cover to hell and gone, although Potter's name was thankfully not revealed in the very end. Yet he managed to bring unwanted attention upon us - and from what I witnessed, those who were rotting their feet in the Hall were quite known for their proclivity to gossip around certain...circles. I especially saw that Abelamus scoundrel - as dandyish as ever - shamelessly leaning in to catch more about our conversation."

"Oh my God," Priscilla lamented, burying her face in her hands. "I remember what Clyde recounted to me the last time that bas-"

"Cilia," Harry broke his silence, reaching for her shoulder, "it's okay, that guy doesn't know I'm linked to you. The only information Skinnard could have possibly gained tonight was that I was Asmodeus' apprentice, that's all." His attempt to placate Priscilla obviously failed as she kept her distressed expression - before it turned into one of aggravation. She shook her head wryly and vacated her chair. Harry frowned, quite perplexed by her disheartened and changing mood. "What-"

"We'll talk about this some other day, Potter," Asmodeus snapped from behind him, bringing a deep scowl to his apprentice's face. _God knows for how long will my great zeugmatic remain_ _intact with all these bad news and interruptions_, Harry groused mentally, stepping backwards. The look he volleyed at his master nonetheless marked his assent as well as a tacit, '_you bet we will_'

Asmodeus didn't miss the message and grunted his cold acknowledgement before turning to the balcony, scowling and grumbling all the way. "Anyway, Cilia, I'll be on my way - I have other things to attend tonight," he said with less animosity than before. "We'll talk about this a trifle later but I figure all of us need some rest from all this madness."

It was said that 'hell hath no fury like that of a woman scorned' but the one who had proclaimed that famous saying obviously had not met certain members of the female population. The way Priscilla whirled around, eyes burning with indignation was hardly describable and conveyed more messages than words could do in a dozen lifetimes.

"'Madness' is hardly an appropriate-" she began hotly, her accent once again magically vanishing.

"I know, _I know_," Asmodeus snapped again, although there was no irritation behind his tone. Just force of habit, ironically. "That's why I need to check things around first before making any decisions. I've been away from the community for too long and I fear the atmosphere as well as the situation may have changed in my absence. Which means, Potter, that your two next evenings training with me are cancelled," he added with a glare. Remembering his earlier reasoning about gaining experience for the upcoming war, Harry wasn't sure whether to rejoice at the news or shout his rage at the world.

He nevertheless addressed his agreement in the form of a nod and turned to gaze at a silent Priscilla. "Well, good night, you two."

Harry returned the parting words but was surprised to hear nothing from his roommate.

With a swirl of his Cloak, Asmodeus took off from the balcony, a great shadow disappearing into the darkened skies. Harry stood at the doorway, his hands gripping the metallic frame and his eyes following the tiny speck soaring above the nearby roofs and fading away, into a sea of black. Wordlessly, he turned away, closed the glass pane behind him and returned to the couch, next to Priscilla. He buried his head in his hands and swore silently. The hand he felt on his shoulder didn't, however, console him. "Murphy rules, as tha' Yankees say, Harry."

"Don't remind me about my bad luck streak, Cilia, please," Harry implored from his makeshift cradle.

"As long as ya don't blame yarself for it, then I won't say anythin'," she corrected him. "So don't hold yarself responsible for tonight's mess, 'cause it's pointless. What's done is done - I admit." She sighed loudly then shuffled towards the kitchen. Harry heard her rummaging for a couple of minutes before she came back with a bottle of gin and two glasses. He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Gin?"

"Figured ya needed it," she shrugged emotionlessly. Harry now understood why people found liquor so enticing and drowned themselves in that well of oblivion.

"I don't need to get wasted tonight, Cilia; I think I'll pass," he differed.

"One glassful won't send ya ta Nirvana an' back, Harry," she retorted, forcing the item in his hands before pouring the beverage inside. "An' I don't care if ya swore never ta accept anythin' from me anymore - just make an exception for tonight."

His snort was enough to justify her evolution from a smirk into a smile. At least he still could see the humor in the situation. The alternative would have been worrisome.

"So...anythin' I should know before Modie tells me?"

"I think you know everything," Harry answered uneasily, his mind reeling with dreadful memories. He didn't think it would do any good to talk to her about Voldemort and his connection to her. The reasonable amount of bad news for the evening had been exceeded by far too much.

"Yar nose is gettin' longer," she chided him. Harry nearly started at her tone, which made sure he got her message. _Lying or equivocating is not an option._ "Ya're no Pinocchio, but I can tell when ya're not sayin' somethin' important."

"Am I really that readable?" he inquired softly, scratching his fingernail.

"Vampires are more receptive than ya think. It's sort of...inborn. Besides, we've been cohabitatin' long enough for me ta draw some conclusions about yar behavior."

"I guess we have," he admitted.

"So? Don't I deserve at least tha' truth?"

Harry gulped, finding the act of admittance to a friend more difficult than ever. It was a burden he was not really fond of distributing to others, knowing that those who partook such knowledge would also get their change of risks. Yet, again, Priscilla was already in danger because she had taken him in, so it wasn't really like her status would worsen or lighten with the new set of news he'd tell her. _Everything in its due time_, he admonished himself.

"The Oracle...sort of...dropped a nickname on me. A...'war name'," he whispered.

If she was surprised then she was more skilled in hiding her emotions than she led people to believe - and Harry knew how experienced she was in keeping her face blank at moments.

"Really? Then that would explain why Modie seemed rather flustered..." she murmured.

"Why?"

"Harry, people directly named by tha' Oracle are sorta very important persons...they're always destined ta do...very, very great things. Dracula was one o' them. An Oracle called him 'Tha' Impaler' an' look what he turned up doin' for a livin'. Harry, those are like...VIPs. Modie must be thinkin' that he should train ya tha' best he can 'cause it would be his responsibility ta transform ya into what tha' Oracle predicted ya'd be. It's now his duty ta turn ya into a killin' machine an' I think he's wonderin' whether he should intensify yar apprenticeship or not."

"Oh."

"And...what did tha' Oracle name ya?"

Harry gulped and looked at her straight in the eye, searching for support, then looked away when he had mustered enough strength to speak. "The...Soultaker."

And with that single word, uttered in disgust and foreboding, a night ended for the two vampires.

* * *

**A/N:**

The prophecy here was pure torture; originally I planned to write it the traditional way - with rhymes and with the same number of syllables - but the challenge was too great and the mental effort too excruciating. I came up with two drafts but ultimately decided to forego the last one and use the first, which seemed more...organic. Anyway, the whole oracle thing here was to introduce Harry to the traditions of the vampiric community, of which we'll be seeing more members in the near future. The scene was taken from the _Aeneid_ and is based on Greek/Roman mythology to show you how far vampires can delve into mysticism. Some points I'd like to clarify: having to suck blood out of one's neck is _not_ dark in Harry's opinion since he doesn't either _kill_ or _harm_ his preys - his bites, remember, do not even leave scars. Embracing the dark, in Harry's opinion, means being willing to nearly wantonly kill, hurt and destroy . Since he's a vampire, he knows that his only way to survive is to bite people - but the boundary between 'borrowing' blood for survival and gratuitously mauling someone with the intention to hurt or kill is the limit that leads to darkness. For him, the dark arts are the embodiment of a philosophy aiming to kill and hurt, but for no 'good' reasons. That's what he was afraid of - of becoming like the Death Eaters and Voldemort - and that's what pushed him off the edge in the end of the chapter, thanks also to Asmodeus' comments and the building stress. As for the French president, well, François Mitterrand was said to pay extra attention to his horoscopes and even had his private astrologer, Elizabeth Teissier. One small inconsistency some of you might not have noticed: if the Ministry's trackers reported Harry as being dead, shouldn't his Gringotts account be then sealed (as he is officially considered 'dead') and subjected to some old protocol pertaining to inheritance and whatnot? I just remember that - yet Harry still managed to withdraw money from his account. Now...people will be telling me...the whole pursuit scene was completely pointless but there were a certain number of points there that were necessary for ulterior scenes as well as certain individuals' background. Other key characters were introduced here. Genuine action will spring up in chapter 11 - chap 10 will have some moments, though.

Now...people will be asking me...why Hermione as the girl of Harry's dreams instead of...for example...Priscilla? There's a symbolic reason for that but you shouldn't despair...Cilia still has her word in here...the story isn't at the end of its development, after all. Think of those two girls as Harry's past and present. Living links to his two worlds. There are some things that are going to change but...darn, I'm not gonna tell you. Just keep reading. And thanks for the support. God knows I need it in those abnormal times. Anyway, the delay was caused by university exams, accountancy studies and my becoming a moderator at a forum and my consequent lingering there to clean the area a bit. Sorry if I dawdled too much for this chap. An overheating motherboard and budget issues (preventing me from replacing it) decreased my writing speed considerably, too - the reason why ch.9 is SO overdue. Next update will be the FIXED version of chapter nine. I'll resume my work on chap ten anytime soon; HP-AVC is NOT abandoned. Not at all.

Oh - last note: due to several occurrences(that I've heard of in certain circles around here) that bear testimony to FFN's dislike of authors that answer readers' reviews, I will no longer address the reviewers here unless it's an important issue. Sorry, guys, but that's the way it is. A few mistakes have been pointed out and I'll fix them ASAP (which means sometime in the future but not NOW as I've become quite a busybody).

Until next chapter,

**ABI2301**


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